


Standing outside the fire

by Strudelmugel



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Brothers, Canonical Character Death, Competition, Family Drama, Horseback Riding, Major Character Injury, Multi, rodeo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-24
Updated: 2016-12-31
Packaged: 2018-03-19 11:03:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 36
Words: 88,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3607713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Strudelmugel/pseuds/Strudelmugel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two teens who had sacrificed so much and had so much yet to prove.<br/>Two teens who had watched brothers die in the same sport, in the same event.<br/>Two teens with nothing to lose but their lives.</p><p>The World Junior Rodeo Championships were created to pit the best in their countries against the rest of the world in a variety of dangerous contests. It was a brutal one-month affair that tested even the strongest of people, and events weren't the only things that could be lost.</p><p>Michael has a name to make, and Oscar has a name to clear. And neither are willing to back down.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue- Head hunter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Michael- Molossia
> 
> ...
> 
> Probably straining myself again, but I really did need to start something new to help get me back into writing. I have lots of chapter WIPs but I felt they were becoming stale so I’m starting something new and hopefully I’ll be able to finish the other chapters to the best of my ability and post them soon.  
> I think a large chunk of the people here know why I’m writing this, but if you don’t, I posted a HuttMol picture with a small essay on an au idea I had, and it was very popular among HuttMol fans. I’m going to guess it’s because you all found the au interesting and like HuttMol, and not because of some sadistic urge to see various countries horrifically injured by various livestock. But still, the reaction was a far more positive one than I’d been expecting and I had so much fun writing the first chapter and planning the story, so thank you all for your encouragement!  
> Now, as well as HuttMol, there are a couple of side pairings: AmeBel, USUK with fem!US, and OzNZ. ...Apologies to anyone who pushed for this au and is now sitting staring at the list going ‘Oh for fuck’s sake!’  
> Anyway, on with the show!

The soft scent of the straw and the dripping of water were obscured by the pungent smells of the animals in the stable and their sniffs and snuffles, along with the clanking of chains and the scuffling of hooves, but Michael didn’t care; the sounds were familiar and comforting to him. He patted the nose of the chestnut horse in front of him in its stall, and the creature snorted in reply. The stables were dark and cool, and perfectly quiet, a welcome break from the glaring sun and loud visitors outside. Not that Michael particularly minded the daylight, he just needed time to himself every now and again.

The horses in the stable seemed fond of him, and he loved sneaking them sugar cubes and apples when no one was looking. That was probably _why_ they were fond of him, he noted with a smile.

The horse he was petting- Lidia- stretched her neck forward to nibble his black hair, which fell flat over his forehead. He laughed and swatted a hand half-heartedly, taking a step back and causing his boots to scuffle over the concrete and straw. His calm ochre eyes- unlined and without shadow- danced and shone as he smiled. Beautiful peace.

He hadn’t had much time to himself since they’d arrived at the festival, and at times he missed his home, the little farm back in Nevada where he could look after his flower beds and vegetable patch in peaceful isolation. He could hum and dig and be himself, every hint of self-consciousness gone from his mind, every worry and insecurity, if only for a while.

But he loved it here too! His brothers took him to various rodeos over the summer holidays, to compete in the events and livestock shows, as well as auction their cattle. It was a tradition and Michael had been going to those things since he was a baby.

He wanted to compete in the events too, and he would be able to in a few years. He had already made a bit of a name for himself in the breakaway roping and goat tying, though he was now too old to compete in the former. Still, he’d soon be barrel racing and bronc riding alongside his brothers, twins Alfred Jones and Matthew Williams, each with numerous titles and trophies under their belts. The things were everywhere in their house, on the mantelpiece, in the cabinet and on shelves in their rooms.

And Michael’s awards would soon be joining them. Not piddly little kid’s rosettes, but proper trophies too!

It was what he was born to do.

One of his earliest memories was riding an animatronic bucking bull at a fair, barely large enough to climb onto the thing by himself. He’d wanted to beat Alfred’s record and he’d stuck his tongue out at the older boy, watching from the sidelines with a smile as Michael clutched the rope with pudgy fists and the ride started.

He didn’t last a second.

The bull jerked to the side and he was thrown off, landing on the inflatable floor with a thump and bursting into tears, though the only injury was to his pride. Alfred had helped him up with a laugh, brushed him down and dried his tears and snot with a handkerchief.

Michael smiled as he sat on the pile of hay bales in the corner. Alfred always looked out for him, even when they were little. And Matthew, in turn, looked after the pair of them. He was the oldest by only a few hours, but was definitely the most mature of them. Alfred was too reckless for his own good. Probably why he always went ahead and entered the bull riding.

Michael shrugged as he pulled a few strands of straw out of a bale, plaiting them absent-mindedly; he thought the bull riding was the most exciting part of the rodeo! Matthew worried too much about Alfred when he competed, not that the boy cared to listen. Yes, people had been killed in the past, and Alfred himself had broken his ribs and collar bones a few times over the years, but why chicken out? The injuries just made him stronger, he claimed. His brother needed his eight seconds of thrill and Michael accepted that.

If only Matthew would too.

He hadn’t told his brothers that he planned to compete in bull riding too, partly because he knew how Matthew would react, and partly because he didn’t know how Alfred would. In Alfred’s mind, there was one rule for himself and one rule for his little brother. But he needed to do something that would make him stand out from the rest of his family!

“Michael Joshua Jones, where have you gotten off to?” came the soft, lilting voice of his brother. Matthew entered the stables and greeted Michael with a smile. Sweat dripped from his shirt and shorts, his body unused to the sweltering heat of the south, having been raised in Alberta for a large chunk of his life. A ridiculous, oversized cuddly polar bear hung from his arms, a prize won in a shooting game yesterday.

He bristled, and replied with a growl. “Here. You can see me!”

Matthew shook his head and smiled. “Come on, you can’t hide in the hay all day. There’s fun to be had! Alfie’s competing soon.”

“Huh?” Michael glanced at his watch, “there’s still time.”

“Yes but I want a picture with that tractor outside.”

"Ain't that a little 'tacky-tourist'?"

Matthew hummed. "Maybe, but I like tractors."

Michael knew when Matthew was lying, but he decided not to argue; he needed some sunlight anyway.

“Okay, what’s this really about?” he began once they were outside. Michael glanced over at rows of large pens containing a variety of livestock. People milled about, and several families had stopped to look at the animals, the children climbing the fences to get a better view. There seemed to be a sea of cowboy hats, some worn by competitors but most had been bought by tourists, including himself. His own hat lightly slapped against the back of his shirt as he walked and he reached behind him and placed it on his hair. He and his brothers went all-out with their outfits each year, revelling in 'looking the part'.

“I have a surprise for you,” was all Matthew would say.

“Hmpf,” Michael wasn’t one for surprises, preferring a bit of order to his life, but he humoured his brother nonetheless. Maybe it was a new pair of chaps? He needed a new pair, he noted, glancing down at the worn leather chaps over his trousers, pinching his thighs uncomfortably. He had no idea how they got in such a state- it wasn't like he actually competed in roughstock events- overuse, maybe? He really liked wearing them.

“Here,” he grabbed Michael’s arm and led him into another building, and the boy found himself in a single large room of pens and cages displaying rabbits, gerbils and lambs, amongst other things.

“The petting zoo?” Michael raised an eyebrow, “just how old do you think I am?”

“Shush you,” Matthew poked his nose and pulled him past a group of small children holding rabbits in their laps.

Matthew stopped at one pen, where a large white dog lay in soft hay, a line of tiny puppies snuggled up to her stomach.

“Yeah?” Michael looked at the puppies, then back at Matthew, brain finally clicking. “Oh…”

“Pick one,” Matthew smiled, “I had a word with the owner and they’ll be old enough to leave their mother by the time we’re set to go home. I bought one for you.”

“For me?” Michael knelt down next to the mother, stroking the dog’s back. She didn’t growl or bark at him, and he felt safe enough to turn his attention to the puppies. "Thank you. That's mighty kind of you to do so."

“Don't worry about it, I'm just looking out for my brother. Thought you could do with some company when Alfie and I are off at work. I’m sure it must get lonely sitting around by yourself all them evenings and weekends.”

“Well I have my garden,” Michael picked up one puppy, stroking its pink nose as it blinked at each touch. He liked this one. The puppy yawned and he smiled, placing it down next to its siblings, “but I wouldn’t mind some company that didn’t talk.” Matthew laughed at that. “Can I get this one?” he added, stroking his chosen puppy.

“Of course!”

“I think I’ll call you Daisy,” he murmured, “yeah, that sounds good!” Daisy blinked in response.

“It’s a nice name, but you’ll have to leave Daisy with her brothers and go cheer on your own brother now.”

“Right,” Michael smiled, scrambling up, “do you think Al will win again?”

“I hope so,” Matthew sighed, “or he’ll just end up with a sore ass for no reason. Still, he has all those rounds ahead of him, and he has good balance…”

“I love watching him compete,” Michael said with a grin as he followed his brother outside, “he looks wicked!”

Matthew glanced down. “I always have my heart in my mouth when I watch him,” he confessed, “it’s eight seconds of pure horror for me. I wish he wouldn’t compete in that damned event.”

Michael stared at his brother for a long moment, unsure of how to reply. Matthew was the best bareback bronc rider in the family, had been thrown off a fully grown horse more times than he’d been kissed. He collected fractures like they were stamps, and he no problem competing against Alfred in bronc riding, but why was it so different with a bull? They were just big horses! Michael had seen people injured badly in both bronc and bull riding; it was a risk that came with the sport, so why was one acceptable to Matthew and the other not?

“Still,” Matthew continued with a shrug, “he knows what he’s doing, and he’s a grown man now, so…”

“But I’ll be in the goat tying tomorrow!” Michael continued hurriedly, “will you and Al be watching?”

“Of course!”

 

…

 

The outdoor arena was packed with spectators cheering and talking. The place stank of body odour and fast food, but Michael didn’t mind so much; he loved the atmosphere of the rodeo, and had a clear view of the arena floor from his seat near the front.

He took another bite of his hotdog and turned to Matthew, sat upright next to him, hands clutching the back of the plastic seat in front of him, popcorn abandoned on his lap. Michael just rolled his eyes at the sight; Matt was like this every year! As they'd searched for seats, they’d been joined by Alfred’s long distance girlfriend, the beautiful ‘ice queen’ Natalya, as Matthew had jokingly dubbed her.

Four years ago, Matthew had signed his twin up for a penpal programme in a desperate attempt to improve Alfred’s geography and after he’d been paired with a girl in Minsk, they'd gotten talking. They both needed somewhere to talk outside their families, and didn’t have much in the way of close friends, and there was plenty for them to discuss with each other, given that their lives were wildly different and they wanted to know about those lives. Even though his geography was still poor, the exchange had been a definite success in Alfred’s eyes.

They flew to each other’s homes as often as they could, but time and money were always an issue. They were busy with their jobs, and those jobs didn’t pay enough to spend on airline tickets every weekend, or even every month. But they managed somehow.

Natalya wasn’t big on rodeo, or people and animals in general. She didn’t like large, rowdy crowds either, but she would travel halfway across the world to watch her cowboy compete. It was a yearly tradition for the pair of them.

Michael wasn’t quite sure what to make of Natalya. They rarely spoke, but the girl was civil enough, if not the most friendly of people. How she fell for loud, cheery Alfie was a mystery in itself. Alfred adored her and Matthew didn’t mind her either, so the youngest brother wouldn’t say a word against Natalya. She was harsh, he’d noted, but so was he at times, and he’d been intimidated by her when they’d first met.

She was odd, Michael had decided, like his brother, but at the same time, so unlike Alfred. She usually had a new factoid to tell him on her visits, the same way other friends of the family saved up little souvenirs for him, and Michael was deeply cynical of her various superstitions, not that he’d ever tell her to her face.

“I still cannot see the appeal of the thing,” she was confessing to Matthew now, “Alfred has tried explaining before but…” Natalya shook her head.

“Not your thing then?” Matthew turned his head and smiled, “oh well. It’s nice you still come out to support Alfie.”

“I like watching him on the bulls and horses… the way he moves on them… it’s arousing.”

Matthew and Michael pulled faces.

“I like watching him make a tit of himself,” Matthew replied, shuddering slightly, “hard to be graceful when you’re falling ass over head.”

“I’ve noticed,” Natalya replied with a smile.

Michael looked at the contender in the bucking chute in interest. It wasn’t his brother, but he still wondered how they would fare. He tried to imagine himself in their place.

Something ice cold poked him in the stomach and he jumped.

“Here,” Matthew hissed when Michael's head snapped up, pressing a beer into his little brother’s hand. “Don’t tell anyone.”

“Thanks,” Michael replied with a grin, pulling the tab and taking a long slug of his first ever beer, and nearly throwing up. “What the fuck!?” It tasted vile! Was beer supposed to be so bitter? And that aftertaste!

“Don’t like it then?” Matthew smiled.

“No! Tastes like shit!”

“Glad you think that, cause you’re not getting another one til you’re 21.”

“Good,” Michael, despite himself, took another- cautious- sip.

The event started and the bull burst out of the bucking chute, jumping and spinning in tight circles, furiously trying to throw off its rider.

And it succeeded.

The contestant barely held on for the eight seconds before they fell to the floor with a rather painful thud. They soon scrambled up and were through the exit chute whilst rodeo clowns distracted the bull. Michael tore his eyes away and looked at his brother.

“...Not sure how that lot in Queensland will recover from such a scandal,” he was telling Natalya, who was trying her best to look like she gave a fuck, “and one of their major stars too...” he trailed off as he realised he’d lost his audience.

“What’s this?” asked Michael.

“Oh some big drugs thing down in the Australian rodeo,” Matthew waved a hand, “not important.”

"Matt, I'm twelve, I can talk about drugs with you."

"Yes, but-"

“There he is,” Natalya pointed to the bucking chute, where Alfred was carefully climbing onto a particularly angry-looking bull.

“Oh I wish he’d wear his damned helmet,” Matthew stared disdainfully at the cowboy hat on his twin’s head, identical to his own one. Michael, on the other hand, thought the hat made him look professional, and rather cool. It went well with his tasselled chaps and glittering boots.

His eyes scanned the crowd and he waved enthusiastically when he saw his brothers, a large grin plastered on his face. He blew a kiss to Natalya- who discretely caught it- and turned his attention to securing a grip on the bull rope. A competitor was only allowed to hold on with one hand, and the other couldn’t touch the bull, rope or their own body throughout the whole thing.

“He’s going to break something this year, I can feel it,” Matthew despaired, and Michael was inclined to agree. Still, he looked so large and solid, especially in his protective vest, that injury almost seemed out of the question.

“And here we have reigning champion Alfred Franklin Jones,” the commentator boomed from their box, “hoping to defend his title and walk away with yet another award. Can he do it? We’ll soon find out.”

A horn sounded and the bull burst out of the chute.

Michael had experienced these eight seconds time and time before, always on the edge of his seat with pulsing excitement and awe. He loved watching Alfred dance across the arena on a bull, balancing himself with grace and dexterity that was almost inhuman. It was an art, he believed.

But today, he didn’t get the chance to watch his brother win.

As the bull began to throw itself in circles, it was immediately clear that something was terribly wrong.

“He’s losing control,” Matthew gasped a split second before Alfred was thrown from the bull and hit the ground in a spray of dirt. He quickly scrambled up as rodeo clowns stood between him and the bull, desperately trying to distract it. He started jogging over to the exit chute, trying to get away from the thing as quickly as possible, an expression of complete disbelief on his downtrodden face. Michael couldn’t help that pang of disappointment in his chest; not the best start, he said to himself, and it would be hard to recover from that calamity of a round.

The crowd around him gasped and cried out as the bull broke away and charged, soon catching up with the horror-stricken young man trying to escape. A single movement, and the creature had kicked Alfred in the back. A sickening crack resounded across the small stadium.

“No!” Michael was on his feet now as his beer can crashed to the floor and soaked his boots, unable to aid his brother as the man hit the ground again, but this time there was no getting up afterwards. Alfred was motionless as the rodeo clowns once again tried to put distance between him and the bull.

“Alfred!”

Somewhere in the confusion, he saw Matthew ring for an ambulance. He may have shouted orders at his younger brother, but Michael didn’t hear them.

All he could do was stare down at his brother’s still body, just nineteen years old.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was shiter than I thought it would be.  
> Now, I have to admit I’ve been on the lookout for a new HuttMol au to write for a while. I have ‘Just Kids’ and will finish that, of course, but there are certain… issues the characters face in that that alters the way I write them. That being said, they also have a range of problems and issues to overcome in this story, but different ones thus they will react differently, hopefully more in-character.  
> After the geographical disaster that is Only One to Stand By Me, I told myself I wouldn’t set another story in America, but here I am! I’ll try to research to the best of my abilities and not have the characters speaking British or Hiberno English which might actually be tricky for me. Still, if you see me doing that, feel free to send a review saying ‘oy Paddy what are you talking about?’ Tbh, I’m tempted to do that to get people to comment, in a similar way to how some people hug pillows and pretend they’re hugging people. ...I've never done that I swear.  
> To make things easier for me in terms of research, all Rodeos and festivals etc. mentioned in this are entirely fictitious, based on real events and places, but fictitious nonetheless.  
> I /have/ researched the best I can though, and you’ll have to forgive me if I got anything wrong. As I mentioned earlier, I live in a country where Rodeo is illegal in a continent that generally restricts Rodeo events, so I’ve never been to one and the only personal experience I have is with those animatronic bulls at fairs (which I am rather good at, if I do say so myself… still never getting on a real bull though) and some youtube videos I watched of rodeo contestants getting injured. Which is freaking grim and I wouldn’t recommend watching.  
> Now, I just want to add- and correct me if I’m wrong- that there’s no conclusive proof that safety helmets protect bullriders, and it certainly didn't make a difference to poor Alfred in the end. Nevertheless, please wear safety helmets when given one, for anything really.  
> And to anyone wondering any Molossia isn’t acting like a little bag of dicks, he’s younger in this chapter than he is in canon, and more innocent. And he does have a nice side in canon. But he’ll be back to his angry, complex self in the next chapter.


	2. Arena

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oscar- Hutt River  
> Charlotte- Wy  
> Hunapo- New Zealand  
> Logan- Australia  
> Samantha- Nyo America
> 
> …
> 
> Whew, first proper chapter! So yeah more characters have been introduced, and I’m also trying out some new human names for Oz and Nyo!Ame because I wasn’t so fond of their old ones, and want to see if these fit better. If you all like them, I might even go and change them in some of my other stories…

_Four years later_

 

...

 

“Isn’t it just _thrilling_?”

Oscar placed his hands on his hips and puffed out his slim chest, standing in the middle of the gates to the fair, the setting for what he hoped would be the month of his life, the moment he’d spent the last two years preparing for.

There were fairground rides as far as he could see and crowds of people milling about, and in the distance he could just make out the outdoor stadium. Children shrieked with excitement as they ran past and an announcer boomed out events and rides to look out for from a large speaker. Fast food fried noisily from stands and the smells of different farm animals attacked his nostrils, but he didn’t care. He was too excited to care.

“Smells like horse shit,” his sister Charlotte grumbled next to him, hands also on her hips and head tilted slightly.

“Well of course! There are horses everywhere!” Oscar huffed, “and since when did you get big enough to swear?”

“Well you do,” the girl raised a bushy eyebrow.

“That’s because I’m seventeen, child,” Oscar ruffled Charlotte’s hair, and his sister swatted his hand away.

“Yeah yeah, and I’ll swear if I want!”

“Oh you will now?” Oscar smirked, regarding the girl with amusement.

“Yes! You’re not my dad!”

“But I am your only family,” Oscar snapped back, “and next year I’ll be your legal guardian so please at least attempt to listen to what I say! I’m trying, I promise.”

“I do listen,” Charlie mumbled, glaring at the ground. There was a heavy silence between the pair. "You just talk so much I can't help but tune out."

“I knew it! Still, what do you think of your big brother’s chances?”

“At rodeo? Oscar, you’ve rocked up to here in a bow tie and you're about half as wide as every other cowboy we've seen; how exactly do you expect to have a chance? You don’t even have a proper hat!”

“Nice to know I’ll always have my family’s support,” Oscar rolled his eyes and entered the fair, picking up a pair of guidebooks from a stand. “Still, the events don’t start for a few days so there’s plenty of time to get to know the place.”

“And find me some things to do whilst you’re making a tit of yourself,” Charlotte joked as she followed him.

“How impolite. I was hoping you’d come along and support me from the stands or something.”

Charlotte looked down, scuffing the toe of her boot in the dirt. “I don’t do that anymore. You know that.”

Oscar nodded. “Of course. And I’m sure Huna will keep an eye on me anyway.”

“Yeah,” Charlotte perked up, “you can cheer each other on!”

“Well if I don’t win then I sincerely hope they do instead.” Oscar walked over to a nearby pen, holding a single mare.

“You could both win though, silly, since you're in different categories. Still, should I place my bets on just them then?” Charlie joked as she climbed the fence her brother was leaning on.

“Have you always been this rude?”

“Rude? I’m an angel!”

Oscar shook his head, turning around to watch people pass by. He’d come a long way in the last few years, he was proud to say. Sure, he’d always had a wiry strength that came from years of helping his family clean their home and practice for their events but this time two years ago he’d never have dreamed he’d be about to compete in what he’d always considered a silly sport for stupid knuckleheads. His brother, Logan, had made sure he knew how to ride a horse from an early age, but actually staying on one whilst racing after calves or around barrels? No, that certainly wasn’t for Oscar! He’d much prefer to travel sat in a car seat than a saddle.

But then…

Well if Logan couldn’t clear his own name and win back his reputation, then Oscar would have to do it for him! And that’s what he’d been training to do all this time: complete the rodeo his brother couldn’t. Win the rodeo his brother couldn’t.

And he could! He’d been ready for over a year now, practicing until his hands were blistered and legs ached so much they could barely move. He’d fallen and tripped and been thrown more times than he cared to remember, and just wiped his mouth and pulled himself up each time.

Except when he fell and broke his arm during the bareback bronc round at the Australian National Rodeo.

He’d been devastated at the news, that his arm was far too injured for him to finish the contest and qualify for the world championships, but at least he’d be healed by the next year! And he was.

If he was completely honest with himself, Oscar was grateful for those extra months of practice. They gave him time to gain that little extra upper-body strength, made him those few seconds faster, that tiniest but more agile.

And that was why he was now representing Australia in the under 18s category of the world championships! Second time lucky, it seemed. He’d seen off the competition in enough events to earn him the most points at national level, and thankfully he didn’t even need to enter all the events…

“Are you sure this is a good idea though?” Charlie piped up as she glared at the fence she was clinging to, interrupting his train of thoughts. Oscar sighed.

“Don’t let what happened last year get to you.”

“What about what happened the year before that?” The siblings glared at each other for a long moment before Oscar scowled and began to walk away, Charlotte trotting along after.

“I think there’s some shooting games down here,” Oscar buried his nose in the guidebook, “you like those, right?”

Charlie glared at the back of his head for a few moments before replying. “Yeah, sure.”

“Well there are a few rides dotted about the place,” Oscar continued, “and donkey riding for kids. I'm sure you can occupy yourself for a few hours then. What do you say, Charlie?” No reply. “Charlie?” He wheeled round to find his sister had disappeared, nowhere to be seen in the unfamiliar crowd.

“Oh God no, Charlotte?” he looked around but couldn’t see her, panic rising in his chest. “Charlie where are you?”

“Oy,” growled Charlie from the doorway of a gift shop, “stop acting like a fanny and get over here!”

“There you are!” Oscar was torn between running over and pulling Charlie into a hug and running over and shaking the living daylights out of the child.

“What? This place sells hats and you need a cowboy hat or you’ll look silly!”

“I'm pretty sure I won’t,” Oscar mumbled, but his sister insisted, dragging him into the shop to look at the display of cowboy hats on pegs and shelves. It was cooler in here, at least, Oscar supposed to himself.

“I’m gonna get this one because it matches my boots,” Charlie commented as she pulled off a pink kids cowgirl hat and tried it on, grinning at Oscar.

“Cute!”

“I’m not cute!” Charlie huffed, putting the hat back. Oscar watched with the mildest amusement as she tried on various different hats, frowning as she claimed they didn’t ‘feel right’ before he just pulled the pink one off the shelf- along with a rather plain tan one for himself- and marched over to the counter.

“Hey!” cried Charlie, running after him.

“You want this one, I know you do and don’t really want to spend the whole day waiting for you to accept that,” he explained, paying for the two items, “because I’m dying to visit the arena!”

 

...

 

“You three boys were always so stubborn but this is a whole new level of ridiculous,” Samantha shook her head despairingly as she glanced over at her cousin, hands gripping the steering wheel particularly tightly. The open window of her Jeep blew in hot air that threw her curly hair this way and that, often covering her sunglasses, and bright red lipstick framed her mouth perfectly. Next to her, Michael bristled, glaring out of the window at the wide expanses of Nevada desert. He’d heard it all before from her and he had no intention of hearing it all again. It was his holiday too!

“You were best friends! Inseparable! And now look at you. All this fighting; don’t you and Matt know you’re all you have left?”

“I fucking know, okay?” Michael squirmed in his seat, “and when Matt’s ready to apologise then I will too. It’s his fault anyway.”

“Now don’t you go taking that tone with me, young man, or you can damn well walk to Texas,” Samantha growled, “and it’s no one’s fault either.”

“Except it’s Matthew’s.”

“No it’s not! He just worries too much and you don’t worry enough. I think he’s out of order telling you what to do, but you were his responsibility and I can understand his reasoning, given what happened...”

Michael didn’t reply. He pulled off his own pair of sunglasses and wiped them on his shirt, Alfred's old hat covering his gelled hair.

“Oh, and I’ve invited him to come along to the rodeo.”

“What? Why?!” Michael wheeled round to face his cousin.

“To cheer us on,” Samantha replied with a pout.

“Cheer us on? He hates rodeo now! He thinks we’re a pair of idiots for continuing to participate in it. We’ll just have another fight when he shows up. _If_ he shows up.”

“He will. I made him promise,” Samantha broke into a grin, “then you two can make up and I’ll be, like, a heroine or something.”

Michael snorted. “Yeah, sure, that’s what’ll happen. It’s more likely we’ll fucking end up punching each other again because his head’s gone right up his ass! Heh, maybe your boyfriend can pull it back out and be crowned king of England.”

Sam laughed, despite herself. “He just doesn’t want to see anyone else hurt!”

“Well he can’t dictate other people’s lives because he’s scared! I can do whatever I shitting well want. And it’s not like I’m gonna be throwing my life away in the bullriding. I ain’t stupid.”

Samantha groaned, briefly resting her forehead on the wheel. “We really have a long way to go…”

 

…

 

Oscar left Charlie in the petting zoo- stroking a particularly fluffy lamb at last glance- and made his way to the arena, hoping to be left in peaceful isolation. He just needed a few minutes to himself, to collect his thoughts and consider just what was about to happen over the coming month. What he was going to do and what could go wrong.

The thought almost made him want to run back to the airport.

He entered the stand and made his way to the front, leaning heavily against the bars to stare at the arena floor, a round expanse of dirt and faint hoofmarks where the roughstock events would take place. Those were the ones he was the most anxious about competing in, given that they were the most deadly, and given that…

No, he was here for a reason and couldn’t let fear get ahold of him. That would just lead to distractions and grave mistakes, and he needed his wits about him for these events.

Not for the first time, Oscar wished he’d had an interest in rodeo as a boy. It would have given him far more of an edge here, and he’d have got to spend more time with Logan. The past two years were filled with so many regrets, yearnings for his brother to be by his side, to guide him and protect him and laugh with him over the little things, like he used to. If he’d have known…

“There you are!”

Oscar wheeled round to find none other than Hunapo Davies standing between the high rows of seats: fellow competitor, representative of New Zealand, old family friend… and very nearly his in-law.

“So you finally showed up, you old bastard,” he laughed, “I was starting to think this was getting too much for you, keeping up with us kids!”

Hunapo snorted, striding over to pull Oscar into a hug. “It’s nice to see you too, boy.”

“Likewise. I’m glad you’re here, if I’m honest. Gonna need all the helping hands I have to get through this.”

“Nervous?” Hunapo raised an eyebrow, and Oscar nodded. “Not surprised. I’ve been doing this for years and it still takes all my resolve not to piss myself in these events!”

“Well that’s comforting to know,” Oscar sighed, “God I was glad when I heard you’d won the New Zealand Nationals.”

“I’d have come out anyway, you know?” Huna tucked a finger under Oscar’s chin, lifting his face up, “since you and Charlie are technically my responsibility and all. And because I care about ye.”

“You do?” Oscar pulled his lips into a wiry smile.

“Of course! Plus, you know _he’d_ want me to keep an eye on you…”

A heavy silence settled over the pair of them as they looked away, Logan’s grinning face plaguing both their minds.

“So, where’s Charlie?” Huna asked, looking around. “Please tell me you haven’t lost her already.”


	3. The competition

“Lucky there’s a hotel that allows dogs, huh?” Samantha smiled as she watched her cousin fuss over Daisy, no longer a little puppy but a rather huge, hairy young dog. No one was quite sure what species she was, only that her bark was weird and she shed hair like nobody’s business, Samantha noted as she glanced over at the back seats of her car- where Daisy had been sleeping- with a silent groan. Still, Michael loved his puppy, and it wasn’t too often you found Michael being affectionate nowadays. In fact, if it weren’t for Daisy, Samantha would’ve sworn he didn’t have a soft side anymore.

“Yeah,” Michael replied, having barely heard Samantha as he fussed over Daisy’s lead, a task made considerably harder by the fact that she was assaulting his face with a barrage of licks, even nipping at his nose. Michael didn’t care though; little Daisy could do no wrong in his eyes. A bit like Alfred, in that sense.

Samantha sighed, looking at the boy in despair. He’d really changed for the worst in the last few years, not letting anyone in and pushing the few people he had away. The new exterior was taking some getting used to, and she hoped he’d drop it eventually. It didn’t suit him, acting like a little brat being hostile to everyone, though the hair was somewhat of an improvement. Matthew had almost given up on him, but Samantha was determined to stay by his side- by both her cousin’s sides. It would be nice if they made things a little easier for her though. Since when was she the sensible one here?

“Ya nervous?” she tried, and Michael nodded. “Me too, but I’m excited, y’know? I think it’ll be a good month for both of us. I can feel it in my bones!”

“Do you ever stop talking?” Michael growled, lifting Daisy up with a grunt. The dog nibbled at his shirt and licked his arm, yapping and barking contentedly.

“Well it’s not like you provide much in the way of conversation,” Samantha snapped back, “so cheer the fuck up cause I’ve been lookin’ forward to this all year!”

“Yeah, okay, fuck’s sake,” Michael rolled his eyes, “I’m just not looking forward to seeing Matt again.”

“Well it might do you both some good to talk,” Samantha pointed out.

“I doubt it.”

“Sam? Is that you?”

Samantha turned around to find a young man walking towards her across the car park, fumbling with a travel bag as he dodged past everyone else. She smiled as he waved, running a hand through his hair, a harried grin on his face. Michael looked at him with a mild interest; he was rather fond of Samantha’s on-off boyfriend Arthur, the overworked accountant with more eccentric streaks than it was thought possible for a human. He liked hearing Arthur’s stories about life in Devon, his hobbies and family, but not so much his work. How could people stand to be cooped up behind a desk all day? Especially someone with Arthur’s imagination.

It was quite clear what his feelings towards his job were, and Michael couldn’t help but wonder why he didn’t quit. Didn’t find something he’d enjoy doing all day.

The one good thing about Arthur’s job- however- was the frequent business trips to the USA, where he could spend time with Samantha. That was how they met, after all. The visits were not constant enough for them to say they were ‘officially’ together, but Michael knew they really cared for each other, it was just they were too scared to say anything serious given that there was little chance of them working out something more permanent.

“Well fancy seeing you here,” Samantha noted as he finally reached her, unbuttoning the top button of his shirt, sleeves rolled up to reveal already sunburnt arms. He really didn't do well in heat, and his shirt already showed the signs of pit stains.

“I was out here for the weekend,” Arthur shrugged, trying to remain nonchalant, “and knew you usually come down this time of year so decided to take some annual leave and have a little holiday.”

“That’s mighty nice of you,” Samantha smiled warmly, “so you’re here to cheer me on?”

“In a way, if you want,” Arthur was preoccupied with staring at his shoes, dust covering the black, shiny polish. His face took on a rosy tinge that wasn't completely from the sun.

“So how long you staying for?”

“Two weeks.”

“That all?” Sam pouted, “this rodeo lasts a month!”

“Oh,” Arthur’s face fell, “well why the fuck does it take so long?”

Samantha laughed. “There’s a lotta events! And two categories of competitors to get through.” She pulled Michael closer, giving him a side hug, “me and my little cousin here are both representing the US! But in our different categories.”

“I see,” Arthur smiled at Michael, “hello again, squirt.” Michael grunted in reply.

“How about you go on ahead and have a look around while I catch up with Arthur?” Samantha suggested slyly, “you don’t really need me tailing you all the time, right?”

“Yeah, cheers,” Michael nodded at them both and began making his way across the car park, Daisy scampering ahead and tugging at her lead. His arm strained as the large dog pulled him along, but Michael wasn’t paying too much attention. He looked around at the people filing in through the large, familiar gates bearing ‘Rodeo Fair’ in sloping letters across the top. He’d been here so many times before, when Alfred and Matthew competed, representing the USA and Canada respectively, and he knew his way around the premises.

There was only one task on his mind, to visit the arena and look around on his own. He was thankful to Sam for giving him that space, a few minutes by himself to think about what was to come.

He wouldn’t end up like Alfred. What happened to him was a freak accident and Michael wouldn’t go the same way, wouldn’t be another statistic or name in a local newspaper for people to use in debates, like what had happened in the weeks after Alfred’s death. Michael, for one, wouldn’t be entering the bullriding. He wasn’t stupid.

Then again, neither was Alfred.

He'd had a long road ahead of him, with so much promise and potential. Alfred had planned to become a scientist when he finished college; he wanted to change the world, cure diseases and visit outer space. Of course, he'd still rodeo in his spare time. Whatever he wanted, so long as he worked hard. Michael had no such plans for his future- and still didn’t- but he happily supported his brother until the very end. It killed him to think Alfred would never grow to achieve his dreams, and, deep down, he understood completely why Matthew was so against him competing. It still annoyed him though.

He paid little attention to his surroundings as he walked towards the stadium. Sure, Alfred had had a future, and was a loss to the family, but what about the talentless bastard child? Michael didn’t have any interests, besides gardening and rodeo, and where could those things get you? Nowhere quick besides the hospital.

He wondered if he could just keep this up for the rest of his life, competing then coming home to look after his garden, surrounded by pets alone on the farm long after his family had moved away. He’d have to find some way of earning money, but he could do it if he thought of something. One man couldn't run a cattle farm by himself, after all.

He more or less lived in his own now anyway. Matt had long fucked off back to Alberta; Alfred was buried under one of the apple trees; the cattle were sold; and the aunt they lived with planned on moving soon, to a city where she’d be near extended family and civilization. Her health was in decline and wanted to be around people, in case of an emergency. Aunt Abigail only moved in after their mother died, to look after the boys and Michael would be old enough to live by himself in a few years. Plus, she was getting somewhat tired of Michael and his attitude.

Something crashed into him as he walked, and his forehead smacked against the chin of another boy.

“Hey, watch where you’re fucking walking, lameass!” He jumped back as Daisy rushed to his aid, barking at what she assumed was an attacker.

“Woah, I’m sorry mate,” the other boy raised his hands, and Michael noted a little girl hiding behind him, nervous eyes fixed on Daisy. The kid had no reason to worry though; the dog was harmless and absolutely no use if Michael was truly being attacked. “No need to get rude.”

“Well could you not see I was walking here?” Michael wrinkled his nose, “I get you’re a tall fucker and all but I’m not that hard to see.”

“I was talking with my sister,” the other replied defensively, “why don’t you watch where you’re going too?”

Michael narrowed his eyes, briefly taking in the boy’s appearance. He was tall, lean and wiry, with a red scarf around his neck. He raised an eyebrow at the cowboy hat perched on his curly brown hair.

“Don’t tell me you’re actually a competitor?” his lip curled.

“I am so!” the boy huffed, “Oscar Cooper, representative of Australia in the under-18s category! This is my sister Charlie.” ‘Charlie’ glared at him from behind her brother.

“Yeah? Mike J Jones, USA under-18s,” he smiled, “and the fucker you will lose to, it seems.”

“We’ll see,” Oscar took Charlie’s hand and walked past him.

“Well you ain’t fucking expecting to do well, right?” Michael wheeled round slowly and looked him up and down, hands stuffed in his pockets; “no way! You’d get killed!” He couldn’t help the concern that dripped into his voice; Oscar was clearly not built for this sport!

Oscar, however, seemed to find the concern more offensive than anything. “Who are you to say that? I’ve trained, I’m capable, and in case you haven’t worked it out, I’m here because I’m the best in my country. And I’ll certainly leave you in the dust!” The last line didn't come out as punchy as he'd expected, clearly, as Oscar tried to compensate with a glare. That didn't work either.

“Right,” Michael shook his head, “how did someone like you even qualify? You’ll have to do something pretty fucking spectacular to impress me.”

“Excuse me if I don’t care about impressing you,” Oscar spat back, “it’s not what I’m here to do.” Then he stormed off into the crowd, Charlie trailing behind and only stopping to discretely stick two fingers up at Michael, who returned by flipping her off. Little brat.

He huffed as he stormed towards the arena, this time dragging Daisy behind him. The dog whined as she struggled to keep up with her owner, but Michael payed her little attention, lost in agitated thought. Was that really who he was up against? Some lanky, lame asshole who probably didn’t know which way round a saddle went? But he’d won the Australian nationals somehow. He’d actually beaten them all off? How? Michael wondered if the kid had entered in the bullriding, and if he was planning to do so here. Still, it was none of his business and all he had to focus on was beating the prick at as many events as possible.

He slowed his pace as he entered the stands of the arena, kneeling down to scratch behind Daisy’s ears. It wasn’t the place of Alfred’s death- he’d never gone back to that particular fair again- but he still felt haunted here, watched, even. It was like his brother was with him, laughing in his ear.

Michael wasn’t sure coming here was a good idea after all, but if he was going to get caught up in memories, it was better to do it now, rather than when he was competing and in potential danger. Yet Alfred seemed everywhere, and Michael could almost see himself as a small child, clinging to the boy’s hand as he lead him to their seats, and when they were older and Michael would sit by himself near the front to watch him and Matt compete.

He stood up, walking past rows of plastic seating as he stared at the dirt arena ring, imagining all the times his brothers danced around as the horses and- in Alfred’s case- bulls they were riding attempted to throw them off.

As Michael reached the barrier between the audience and ring, he realised he wasn’t alone. Across from him, leaning in a similar position, was his remaining brother. The pair noticed each other at the same time, and their frowns deepened.

“So Sam was telling the fucking truth after all,” Michael called, “you showed your high-and-mighty face here? Why thank you ever so much for gracing us 'morons' with you presence!”

“You sound so surprised,” Matthew replied, barely within the boy’s hearing range, and Michael began making his way towards him. Matthew made no attempt to come closer or leave.

“So how come you came?” he asked as he drew nearer, “think you can change my mind before this thing starts? Come to gloat when I end up in hospital?”

“Nothing like that,” Matthew snapped, “Samantha wants us to make up, and I’m all for it if you are.” He leaned down to stroke behind Daisy’s ear, and the dog licked his hand in return.

Michael wanted to make up so desperately, but would that include Matthew’s support? And would Matthew accept his decision to compete. Because if not, there was no point in trying to reconcile if it would only be short lived.

“I’ll think about it,” was his curt reply.

Matthew sighed, “well think hard, kid, cause you don’t want to go making rash decisions.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know.” Michael shook his head as he pushed past, Daisy scampering behind him.

“Be careful.”

Michael barely caught his brother’s whisper, not liking how fragile Matthew sounded as he spoke them. He decided to ignore Matthew, and didn’t look back as he walked out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nothing really much to say here, except I hope you're liking this story so far! Feedback is appreciated!  
> So they've finally met, huh? Where shall they go from here? I mean, I know where, but I'd like to see you all have a guess.


	4. Seeing daylight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can’t believe Will and Kate named their baby after aph Wy. What a pair of fucking weeaboos.  
> Still, long time no see, huh? Sorry for the delay, and I fear there might be more with this fic as I finish fleshing out my plan for it. It’s more or less backbone with a few details at the moment.  
> Still, here's a nice long chapter!  
> Also, I should probably warn you all that there's some mentions of injuries in this chapter, all inspired by real rodeo injuries I've read so they're pretty brutal.

Well, this was certainly awkward.

Michael scowled as his eyes scanned the outdoor cafe, arms sagging under the weight of his tray of fast food. The warm afternoon sun beat down on the crowd, sheltering under large parasols and sprawled on the wooden tables covered in half-eaten food and rubbish. A swarm of flies circled a nearby bin, and there was very little in the way of relief from the heat and blinding light. There was also absolutely nowhere to sit.

Well, there was one space available…

Michael glared at the empty seat next to Oscar, who had not noticed him and was in deep conversation with his sister. Now exactly how much pride would he have to swallow to be allowed to sit there? He could always find somewhere else to sit, outside the seating area, but his arms were heavy and his burger was getting cold. Samantha was nowhere to be found- probably training somewhere, like he was supposed to be- so he would just have to suck it up.

His scowl prevailed as he walked towards the other competitor, wondering just what he was supposed to say here. Something that made him look humble, but not too much of a suck-up, because there was no way he was sucking up to this prick. He’d rather eat on the floor!

“Hey, um, hi, I guess…” Not the best start, he had to admit.

Oscar’s head snapped up, features pulled into a frown that didn’t quite suit his face.

“What do you want?” he mumbled, turning back to Charlie.

“Hey, err, look, sorry about yesterday, okay?” Michael’s tongue felt fat and heavy as he said that, and he focused on glowering at his boots, “I was in one of those moods, you know?”

He noted Oscar smiling in the corner of his vision. “You were now? Well, apology accepted, I guess.”

“No need to sound so surprised,” Michael growled.

“I’m pleasantly so, if that helps.”

Michael glanced up, finally bringing himself to get a good look at Oscar. His smile could almost be described as diplomatic, despite hunched shoulders, folded arms and a face shadowed by the rim of his hat. Charlie was next to him, eyeing Daisy in a significantly less anxious manner than before.

The guy was good looking, he’d admit that much. Everything about his appearance had a kiss of gold: the golden shine in his olive eyes, golden tan, and the golden highlights in his brunet hair. His nose was slightly upturned, and looked like it had been broken before, much to Michael’s surprise and he couldn’t tell if the injury was from rodeo or the fact the Oscar was an unbearable prick. A spattering of freckles covered his dimpled cheeks, and there were more on his lower arms, bronzed and lean, but muscular all the same.

“I don’t know,” he replied with a shrug, “maybe it does, maybe it doesn’t.”

The only response he got from the other was a snort before an uncomfortable silence settled over the table.

“Can I sit with you?” Michael blurted out.

Oscar’s rather unfortunate set of eyebrows shot up. “‘Scuse me?”

“Can I fucking sit with you?” he repeated through gritted teeth, “please?”

No one spoke for a long moment, Oscar rubbing his chin and exchanging glances with Charlie. “I suppose so, but no swearing in front of my sister.”

“I don’t mind swearing,” Charlie objected, “just no fighting, oh, and I get to pet the dog.”

Michael grinned, “sure, her name’s Daisy! You can take her leash if you like, she don’t bite or any of that shit.”

Charlie grinned as he handed her the lead before sitting down on the other side of Oscar, who wore a notable scowl. The look really didn’t suit him, Michael noted again; pretty boys like him weren’t supposed to do that, but that was the kind of effect Michael had on people nowadays, he supposed. And what did he care anyway? He’d soon be giving the guy more than enough reasons to frown, with each go-round he won. In his bubble of silent smugness, Michael almost didn’t hear the friendly conversation thrown in his direction.

“She’s very pretty,” Charlie commented as she scratched behind the dog’s ears, a gesture much appreciated by Daisy.

“I know,” Michael beamed. And the trio fell into uncomfortable silence once more. He shrugged and began to tuck into his lunch: burger and chips with generous helpings of sauce. Honestly, not the best thing to be eating with a sporting event coming up, but Michael didn’t care; he’d trained hard and deserved a little break, plus the extra weight would mean he was harder to throw off in the bronc riding, he reasoned. And he could never turn down a beef burger.

“So I guess we got off on the wrong start,” Oscar began, poking at his own chips.

“Yeah, a little. So you’re really competing, huh?”

Oscar wrinkled his nose. “You still don’t believe me?”

“You just don’t look like a guy who’d be interested in wrestling steers and riding bulls.”

“Well I’m not interested in bull riding,” Oscar replied, a little too quickly, “but yes, I haven’t been in the game long. Only a couple of years.”

“Thought so,” Michael leaned back in his seat, “you look more like a model than a cowboy.”

Charlie leaned forward, raising an eyebrow at Michael. “Are you gay?”

“Charlie!” Oscar lightly struck the back of her head, “forgive my sister; she’s rather odd. But I’ll take what you said as a compliment, I think.”

“I must’ve said it wrong then,” Michael glared at the duo, deciding to ignore Charlie’s question, the nosy little cow. “First time in the world championship?”

“First time qualifying,” Oscar replied, “got injured last year at the Australian national, but I tried again and here I am.”

“There can’t be a lot of cowboys in Australia.”

“Not a lot of anything in Australia,” Charlie commented.

“No there isn-” Oscar scowled, “and what are you implying _there_ , mister?”

“Nothing,” Michael gave a shrug, deliberately not looking at the other, “I’m just curious about your competition.”

Oscar bristled. “There was a lot, okay? No less than the competition in America. And they were stronger than me and had trained nearly all their lives, but I’m here! I won! Friggin deal with it.”

“I will,” Michael replied, “won't be that hard to. So you’re new to this then?”

“Indeed. That's what I just said.”

“What got you started?”

Oscar didn’t reply immediately. “Family issues.”

“I see,” Michael decided not to pry; it wasn’t really his business and he wasn’t sure he was all that interested anyway.

“So,” Oscar tapped the tips of his fingers together, looking around, “did you go to rodeo school?”

“Course! Every summer holiday, as many as I could afford. You?”

“Yeah. They were pretty useful; didn’t expect to learn so much in a few days.”

“Mmm,” Michael was growing frustrated with the meaningless conversation. He didn’t like these two, and wanted to get away from them as soon as possible. God he was looking forward to rubbing his rosettes and trophy in that annoying bastard’s perfect face.

Michael flushed at that. Oscar’s face wasn’t perfect! Well, it was, but annoyingly so; yes, it was a very annoying face, a little too beautiful for his taste.

“It took us ages to sneak away here,” Oscar started again, “I’m not supposed to be eating this junk, but it’s been ages since I’ve had a good takeaway.” He popped a handful of chips in his mouth, smiling sheepishly and still managing to look graceful.

“Yeah, same. But one won’t hurt.” Michael bit viciously into his burger, causing the other to jump.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, “I get a bit weird eating burgers. My brother was killed by a bull, see, and this is kinda like my revenge or something. Against cows.”

Oscar blinked, not saying anything for a long moment. “Your brother?”

“Yeah, he got thrown in the bull riding four years ago and the thing kicked him in the back." Bile rose in his throat as he said that. The blow then shattered his ribs, and as he fell, the pieces pierced his heart and lungs. Within minutes, his right lung had collapsed. That was what Matthew had told him in the hospital, in the deserted waiting room after talking to the doctor who’d tried to save Alfred. He’d barely heard over his crying, refusing to believe his beloved brother was gone. Even now, he hated to think of how much pain Alfred had been in as he died, of those long, drawn out minutes in the arena before he’d lost consciousness.

As the ambulance was being called, Michael had followed Matthew and Natalya down through the horrified crowd into the arena. He remembered his brother vaulting the railing and dashing to Alfred’s side, Natalya following, considerably slower and Michael had soon overtaken her.

Matthew had screamed at him to stay back- louder than he’d probably been in his life- but Michael ignored him and fell to his knees at Alfred’s head, gagging at his brother’s blue face, the veins in his neck prominent and pulsing. He’d tried to speak, but only coughing came out and he’d groaned when he’d tried to move. His breathing had been fast, eyes wide with panic and agony. Michael and Matthew had held a hand each, and he’d smiled at that, giving a final, pained, moan before slipping under.

The paramedics and doctors had done everything they could, but by then it was too late.

He wasn’t sure why he was telling Oscar and Charlie this though. They didn’t need to know.

The Cooper siblings exchanged glances.

“Sorry to hear about your brother,” Oscar spoke up.

“It’s fine. But there’s no way in hell I’m attempting the bull riding, ever.” Michael screwed up his face as he said that, not caring how childish he looked. It was true though.

“Likewise, in all honesty. Look, I guess that was tough for you to tell us,” Oscar began, “so it’s only fair we share something back.”

“Oh?”

Oscar opened his mouth to reply, but someone interrupted them.

“There you are!” called Hunapo cheerily, making their way towards the group and folding their muscular arms- adorned with moko- after catching sight of Oscar’s lunch. They were in front of the trio now, one bushy eyebrow raised and a smirk on their face. The dust smeared across their checked shirt and baggy shorts was evidence of a long morning's training, as was the large bruise on their forehead.

“Oh I see,” they began, “snuck off to have a cheeky snack, did we?”

“Come on Huna,” Oscar wrinkled his nose, “it’s not going to make a difference now!”

“I know, I know, just don’t make it a habit.” Hunapo caught sight of Michael, and threw him a friendly smile. “Hey who are you then?”

“Mike Jones,” Michael held out a hand, which Hunapo shook, “under 18s competitor for the USA.”

“Nice to meet you, Mike. I’m Huna Davies, 18-25 for New Zealand and the guardian of these two shits.” They nodded at the Cooper siblings.

“Guardian?” Mike frowned. Where the hell were their parents?

“Yeah, or for another year at least.”

“Can’t wait to get shot of us?” Oscar joked, and Hunapo let out a chuckle.

“Maybe.”

“Oh, I’m not disturbing you, am I?” Michael turned around to find his remaining brother standing over him, smile tentative and friendly. He didn’t seem hostile now, but that didn’t stop Michael glaring at him like he was nothing more than a nuisance. He swore, if Matthew said even one thing to embarrass him in front of the competition…

“Oh not at all,” Hunapo replied, throwing Matthew a grin, “are you a competitor too?”

“No, I gave all that lark up ages ago,” Matt replied, “my brother and cousin are though, and I’m just here to cheer them on. Oh, I’m Matt Williams, by the way.”

“Huna Davies,” Hunapo shook Matthew’s hand.

“I’ve heard of you; you’re that star from New Zealand, right?”

“That’s me.”

“Is it true you perform the Haka before your go-rounds to get you fired up? I always thought that was just a rugby thing.”

“No, it’s true,” Hunapo nodded, “helps me focus. My dad taught me when I was a kid. They don’t call me Haka Huna Davies for nothing, you know?”

“Nice,” replied Matthew, “you competing here?”

“Indeed. And babysitting these two,” they jerked their head in Oscar and Charlie’s direction. “Oh, these are Oscar and Charlotte Cooper.”

Matthew stared at the siblings for a long moment, squinting slightly before erupting. “No way! Are you related to Logan Cooper?” His voice was no louder than normal, but Michael could tell he was excited. What for? He couldn’t see anything special about the Cooper siblings, though the name Logan rang a few bells.

“He’s our older brother,” Oscar replied.

“As in, Logan ‘The Wonder Down Under’ Cooper?”

“How many other Australian Rodeo stars called Logan Cooper do you know?” Oscar’s smile fell slightly.

“Good point, but wow you’re really his little brother and sister?”

“That’s us!”

“Incredible.”

“So what? I fucked Logan ‘The Wonder Down Under’ Cooper. I’m the one who started the nickname for God’s sake,” Hunapo muttered, and Oscar pulled a face.

"He told me he made it up himself!"

“Did you now?” Matthew laughed, “I heard you two were a thing. It caused quite a stir.”

“Well the pair of us have always stood out, and we've always loved causing a good kerfuffle,” Hunapo shrugged, “still, hope that explains why I got his kids.”

“Of course, sorry to hear what happened to him though. I don’t think I’ve ever seen such a fall from grace.”

“He never got a chance to win his reputation back,” Oscar hissed, playing with his scarf and not even aware he'd spoken aloud.

Matt glances down at him. “So is that why you’re here?”

Oscar jumped slightly, but nodded.

“What even happened?” Michael asked.

“Well,” began Oscar tentatively, “that’s what I was about to explain. My brother… he, well, got into a bit of trouble.”

“In what way?”

Oscar and Hunapo exchanged glances whilst Charlie busied herself with scratching Daisy’s belly.

“Drugs.” Oscar’s lip wobbled, “they… I don’t know why he did it. But he was found with steroids in him. Not much but even having one pill on you can get you sent to jail back home, and he was competing on a televised sporting event.”

“He was arrested and disqualified from rodeo, went to jail for a year and was fined something heavy,” added Huna.

“So where is he now?” asked Michael, and he didn’t get an immediate reply.

“Dead,” was all Oscar cared to share.

The five fell into uncomfortable silence before Michael gave a cough. Call him morbidly curious, but he wanted to know what had happened to Logan, though it was clear Oscar and Huna were done discussing him. He didn’t want to pry, but he supposed he could always suck up to Matt later and see if he had anything to add on the subject.

Oh right, why was Matt here?

“So what do you want to see me about?” he growled. If Matt tried to talk him out of competing in front of Oscar he’d never forgive him!

“Oh, that, there’s someone you need to meet,” Matthew replied.

“Is he yours then?” asked Hunapo, smiling at Mike.

“In a way. Mike’s my little brother.”

Michael saw Charlie’s eyes widen and he couldn’t help but laugh, more spiteful than he intended it to be.

“My other brother,” he explained, and the child relaxed, “I have- had- two.”

“Right, I thought I recognised you too,” Hunapo added, “took a while to be sure, sorry. You and your twin have done pretty well over the years too.”

“It’s fine, Alfred was always the memorable one anyway. It’s kinda hard to forget someone that… loud.”

Huna nodded in understanding. “So you’re getting involved in the family business then?” they asked, and Mike nodded.

“Unfortunately,” Matthew sighed, causing his brother to scowl.

“Well you shouldn’t let what happened in the past stop you,” Huna tried, “I mean, competing is my life, and I know Logan would hate to see me give up because of fear. He’d never let me hear the end of it!”

Matthew rubbed his chin, letting out another sigh. “Except he isn't around anymore to see if you compete or not. We’ll see. Look, Mike, you’re really gonna want to meet this person.”

“Whatever,” Mike rolled his eyes and stood up, snatching Daisy’s lead back from Charlie and leaving his empty tray on the table. Oh what now? Had their aunt turned up? Al and Matt’s dad? None of them really cared for the sport anymore as they passed into their old age- unlike their mother who'd been riding until the very end- and it was rare that the brothers could convince them to come along and support them, especially after Alfred died.

“So what happened with that Australian guy?” he asked as they walked.

Matthew grimaced. “Oh, Logan? Went the same way as Alfred: in the arena on a bull. Or should that be, under its hooves.”

“Ow,” Michael flinched.

“I know. I watched the event live on my laptop and saw everything. Poor guy. The thing trampled him to bits, broke bones, tore his throat open… he didn’t even survive to the hospital. He wasn't recognisable by the end of it, there was so much blood on his face.”

Michael clasped a hand over his neck, gulping. He felt sick just imagining it, and wondered what the Cooper siblings were even doing here after having something like that happen to a family member. But what did he know? Really.

“I thought he was banned from competing,” he said instead.

“He was, when he was arrested and during the trial and sentence, but they gave him another chance when he got out, and he told the media he’d win the World Rodeo Championships and it would all be forgotten.” Matthew hung his head, “I’d met Logan a few times before, at fairs, and he’s a great guy. Real funny and down to earth. I was rootin’ for him in the Australian Nationals- even though I wouldn’t be at the World Championships to meet him- and he was winning! He was gonna do it. But that last event...”

“He died,” Michael finished bitterly.

Matthew nodded, picking a loose thread from his shirt. “The one other thing I remember from the event, besides Logan’s body, was the camera cutting to that little girl’s face.”

“Charlie?”

“That’s her. She was in the audience, like you were when… well. I remember it clearly, the look of horror.”

“She can’t have been too old, Christ she’s only a little one now,” Michael added, before wrinkling his nose, “but what are you hoping to gain from telling me all this?”

“You asked!”

“Not for that much detail.”

“Didn’t like what you heard?” Matthew rolled his eyes, “you can die from this, in case you haven’t realised already.”

“Really? I had no idea,” Mike fell behind, “no one fucking told me that. And anyway, it never stopped you from entering.”

Matthew glared at him. “That was before I had to watch my brother die in absolute agony. I don’t want any more of my family to go that way.”

“Well you can’t stop me and Samantha, so you’ll just have to lump it. And if you’re so fucking convinced we both will die horribly, then why are you not spending every possible moment with us before it’s too late?”

Matthew didn’t have an answer to that.

“And I’m not even entering the bull riding, okay? So I’m not going to go the same way as Alfie.”

“Just make sure it stays that way;” Matthew’s voice cracked as he spoke, “please. You’re just a kid.”

“I’m nearly an adult though!”

“Yeah? Alfie said that same sort of horseshit when he was sixteen. So did I.”

“Well weren’t you a bellend.” Matthew laughed, and for just a second, they were back to their old selves.

“Ah, here we are,” the older brother nodded at someone standing boredly by the gate to the seating area, and Mike’s jaw dropped.

“Natalya?!”

Michael hadn’t seen her for four years now, not since Alfred’s funeral. She’d barely said a word to him then, standing away from everyone in the Jones’ back garden, the veil of her large, black hat covering her face so no one could see her cry. The next day she’d flown back to Belarus and hadn’t set foot in the USA since.

“Ah, so you found him then,” Natalya nodded at Mike, expression glum. Her face was greyer than Michael remembered, with more tiny lines around the eyes and mouth. She straightened her blouse, and he saw her fingernails were bitten and chewed, a far cry from the long, painted claws he was used to seeing on her.

“Eventually,” Matthew chuckled, “it was nice to see him making friends though.” Michael pulled a face at that; Oscar was not his friend!

“Of course,” Natalya smiled politely, “hello again, Michael. I see time hasn’t been kind to you either.”

“Thanks, you look like shit too,” Michael raised an eyebrow, “guess we’re all still wrecks, in some way.”

“Indeed.”

“Apparently Natalya’s here to cheer you and Sam on,” Matthew explained.

“And you too, well, that was the idea,” Natalya tilted her head slightly, “but it seems you’ve made some sensible choices since we last met.”

“Is that the only reason you’re here?” Michael growled, and Natalya shook her head.

“I needed to visit the country once more,” the girl admitted, “to see you all again. I don’t know. I haven’t felt right since Alfred died and thought this would help.” She threw a glare at the brothers, “but that isn’t something I want broadcast to the world.”

“Of course!”

“So you’re still competing then?” she asked Michael, raising an eyebrow.

“Me and Samantha, yeah.”

“Why?”

Michael shrugged. “What else can I do with my life? Rodeo is all I know, outside my home. I’ve been building up to these events since I was little, and hey, Alfred wouldn’t have wanted me to quit doing what I love because of him.”

“Alfred was an idiot who did not think of consequences,” snapped Natalya. “He never cared what effects his actions had, least of all on himself. That’s why…” she looked down, blinking back tears and scowling. “He left us all too soon.”

“Yes, I know,” Michael shook his head, “and don’t you start too. I’ve already had more fucking earfuls from Matt than I can handle, and I don’t need you both bringing me down. Fucking hell leave me alone to do this!” And with that, he stormed off whilst Matthew and Natalya exchanged despairing glances.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, a quick note, ta moko is traditional Maori tattooing, usually on the face, arms and body, and moko (tattoos) are considered sacred. Each individual’s moko is unique and specific to them, portraying their family history, tribe and social status, and considered a symbol of cultural pride. Although you can’t have moko if you’re not Maori, there’s kirituhi, which is general tattooing in maori style. And yes you will need to remember that for later chapters. Not saying why though.  
> I personally see aph New Zealand as mixed race (White/Maori), and write/draw them as such, a headcanon I generally extend to the other Oceanics [though Aboriginal Australian, not Maori]. I've never really mentioned it before (assumed people would guess as much from their human name, plus I don't want to overtly focus on one character's race and single them out as such, not to mention everyone has their own ideas on the character and I don't want to force my headcanons on people) but I thought it'd be a good idea to mention, as I did describe them as having moko on their arms, and like I just said, you can only get them if you're Maori. I also think they'd have more moko on their torso too.  
> I assume people also know by now I write them as agender, something that's been pretty consistent from 'Just Kids', hence the they pronouns. Just making sure, aha.  
> Logan 'the Wonder Down Under' Cooper and Haka Huna Davies... okay I've clearly been drained of all my creativity. It's all gone! There's nothing left for me now, might as well get carted off to be made into a findus lasagne.


	5. Hooey

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oyoy geezers, I know I said I’d take a break from this, but it turned out I lied. What? This story is too fun to write! Plus, I’m so stubborn I don’t even listen to myself.  
> Okay, quick note, it seems I wrote something out Hutt’s family owning a farm in chapter two, well forget that. I wrote chapter two with less of the details of this story finalised so I’ll have to go back and change that. The Cooper siblings’ real backstory is in this chapter.

“Come on! Swing!” Hunapo waved their arms in the air as Oscar struggled to stay seated on the saddle, balanced precariously on a log. The thing was not tight enough- made for horses, not bits of dead tree- and he wobbled from side to side as he tried to swing the rope around his head. He’d already lost his balance several times, which resulted in him receiving a faceful of dirt more times than he cared to remember and Hunapo had even sent Charlie back inside so Oscar wouldn’t have to put up with her cackle of a laugh.

They’d been at this for hours now, the sun no more than a sliver on the horizon, light slowly fading to the dark purples and stars of the night sky. The ranch they were staying at was deserted, the few other residents either out tending cattle, in the stables or inside cooking dinner, and the evening air was still and silent.

It was part of their daily routine now, working all day out in the fields and practising for different events in the evenings. The two oldest helped out in exchange for food and a bed, moving from ranch to ranch during the summer months, following whatever Australian rodeos Huna competed in, and eventually Oscar would too. Eventually being the key word. He’d only been doing this for a few weeks now, and he still had a long way to go.

“I’m trying!” he called back. Another wobble, but he focused on swinging the rope around his head, the large loop slapping against the dirt.

“Great! Now throw!”

Oscar stuck his tongue between his teeth and swung the rope at the calf dummy in front of him, missing it by several inches. His chest deflated.

“Hey no worries,” Huna told him, throwing a reassuring smile in the teen’s direction, “just try again, you’ll soon get the hang of it.”

But Oscar was certain he wouldn’t. He wasn’t strong or fast- like Logan and Hunapo- and he couldn't tie a knot or aim properly or wrestle livestock. He was agile- from a lifetime of dodging Logan’s suffocating hugs- but that was about it.

And he was still hurting inside.

Logan had only been dead a few weeks, and he was nowhere near ready to move on; he could only distract himself with work and practice during those long, meaningless days. Everything blurred into one now, just a dull pain occasionally broken by blinding agony as he struggled to accept his brother was gone forever. The grief threatened to crush him from the inside out, an emptiness in his chest like a piece of his heart had been pulled out and stamped on.

He had to do this. He had to be strong for Logan! He would be the best- in the country and in the world- and his brother’s mistake would soon be forgotten. Then again, Logan’s drug use was now just a side note to the media, and he was now known as the poor athlete gored to death by a bull, rather than the disgraced athlete who’d been sent to jail for 18 months after taking steroids.

Huna had explained it to him during the trial, why Logan had done something so utterly stupid and reckless when everything seemed to be going well for him. Sure, it wouldn’t help much with the sentencing, but it’d stop the younger brother from being too resentful over their situation.

“Want to call it a night?” Huna suggested, and Oscar nodded miserably, climbing off the saddle and lifting it up to return to the stables. He was disappointed- of course- but the relief was there too; it wasn’t the comfiest seat in the world and his thighs were still not used to it.

“We’ll try again tomorrow,” Huna assured Oscar, “look, we still have time. You’ll get it soon enough.”

“I don’t think I will,” he mumbled, “I’m so shit!”

“So was I at some point,” Huna replied, “but I kept going, and now look at me.”

“Well you know what they say,” Oscar began as they walked towards the stable, looking the other up and down, “those who can’t, teach.”

“Cheeky little bastard,” Hunapo aimed a swipe at Oscar, who ducked, doubling over and laughing. The two fell into silence as Oscar dashed into the stable, dumped the saddle and jogged out again. Still, at least dinner would be ready soon.

Logan had panicked, apparently. Becoming the sole earner in the family had put pressure on the carefree teen and he’d struggled, every thought shadowed by the notion that, should he lose too many rodeos, or even become incapacitated due to injury, his little brother and sister would go hungry. Oscar had no plans to compete back then, and it wasn’t like Logan, with his limited education and non-physical skills, could get a desk job. He couldn't let his siblings down, and took more risks. At first, they were just risks in the events, but each new injury came with a stab of fear in his heart- sure, this time it was a bruise or a broken finger, but what if next time it was something more serious? What would happen if it was his leg or even his back? How could he earn money from a wheelchair?

That was when a colleague approached him, mentioned a dealer who could help give him an edge, an extra bit of strength. Naturally, Logan had been appalled at first. He’d rather die than cheat! But coming last in several events and pulling a muscle soon got him changing his tune. The pressure he was putting himself under was making it harder to win, and whilst they still had plenty of money at the moment, that would dry up soon enough. And then what?

It had been an act of desperation, Huna had explained to Oscar outside the courthouse. He’d not told anyone out of shame, and Huna had only discovered his secret by accident.

“We’re going back to New Zealand for a few months,” Hunapo began, more sombre than before, “my parents need some help on the farm and asked me to come back. I hope that’s okay with you.”

Oscar nodded. “That’s fine. A change of scene might do me and Charlie some good. It’ll be nice to get away from it all, you know.”

“Staying at my house might also give you something more… permanent in your life too. An anchor or a rock, in a way.”

“‘Permanent’ might take some getting used to,” Oscar admitted, eyebrows raised as he scuffed his boots in the dirt. Logan had been born in a caravan, as had he and Charlie. Their parents travelled up and down the country in the thing, competing in rodeos and living off the prize money and the three children lived, ate, played and were educated in the thing. Oscar remembered the butt-numbingly long trips in the car with the caravan hooked onto the back, squashed next to Logan and Charlie in the back seats, belting out old rock songs playing on the radio as sun streamed in through the windows.

After their parents died, Logan took over as the driver, and wage earner, paying for petrol and food like his parents before him: with prize money. They’d managed somehow. They’d muddled through as before, but with emptier lives and half the budget. And after Logan was arrested, Hunapo moved into the caravan to look after them, also paying their way with winnings, though considerably less after their savings had depleted in order to pay Logan’s hefty fine. And he’d only taken drugs to win them more money...

Hunapo briefly went back to their parents home shortly after Logan was released, returning just in time to see him compete, luckily, as Oscar and Charlie would’ve had nowhere else to go by the end of it.

They still had the caravan, but it was mostly for sleeping on the road now, and the three of them prefered to stay at ranches or motels where they could. It just wasn’t the same place without Logan. It was parked out in the front of the farmhouse, and they were still debating whether or not to just sell it.

“Plus you could go off jogging for a few hours without me worrying something ate you,” Huna joked, giving a half-hearted chuckle.

“Yeah. Will we be able to practice there too?”

“I should think so,” Hunapo nodded, “I mean, that’s where I started, after all. I’m sure I can make some time to continue your tuition, though I guess we’d have to enroll you and Charlie in a school and college for a bit, if that’s fine with you.”

Oscar grimaced. “I’m not a people person, you know that.”

“I know, but it’s hard enough helping Charlie with her work now, and you need your education. No offense kid, but you could be in need of a backup plan.”

Oscar scowled. “I’m going to get better, okay? I’ll win this thing. That’ll show you.” And with that, he stormed off.

Hunapo snorted, smiling after him. “Nice to know you haven’t given up just yet.”

 

…

 

His turn was coming up soon. Oscar watched from the sidelines as Michael leapt from his horse and ran to the calf he’d roped, the thing staggering slightly and coming up to the other’s chest. With a surprising amount of strength, he picked it up, flanked it and dropped it to the floor, using the pigging string hanging from his mouth to tie three of its legs together before jumping up and throwing his arms in the air to show he was done. 7.8 seconds, the board read. Not bad, Oscar supposed. He could beat that easily though.

“You scared, kid?” Hunapo began as they walked over and patted his shoulder reassuringly. Oscar snorted.

“Not on your life, mate. Not anymore.”

“Good to know, cause you’re up next.” Hunapo led him out of the stands, to where his horse was ready to enter the box- where he’d start the event. Oscar climbed on with ease, slipping his boots into the stirrups and settling down on the saddle. It didn’t hurt as badly now, sitting in a saddle- though his legs still ached if he had to ride a horse for hours- and he couldn’t help being proud of that, of how much practice he’d put in. Being taller than his fifteen year old self certainly helped too, much taller actually, thanks to a growth spurt last year.

It was safe to say that expecting 2 competitors each, from 10 different countries, to transport their own horses to the event would be a logistical nightmare, so the organisation behind the World Championships kindly provided the horses as well as the other livestock.

“Good luck,” Huna called after him as he made his way into the box, and all he could do was nod in reply. Sure, he'd said he wasn't scared, but the adrenaline was rushing through his limbs now and he had to quell his unsteady nerves. It was the first go-round of his first event, so he couldn’t really blame himself for being a little anxious. Still, he’d done it before and could do it again. The thrill was there too though, and a wide grin spread onto his face as he tied the end of the rope around the saddle horn, trying to block out the blaring voice of the commentator in his ears, only partially succeeding.

“...a fresh talent on the Australian scene, quite new to rodeo but has managed to hold his own against more experienced cowboys in his country, and here he is now. I'm curious to see what he's got...”

The breakaway barrier stretched out in front of him, making up one side of the box. He had to time this just right. The barrier was attached to the calf, and fell away once the calf had received enough of a head start and reached the advantage point. That would take seconds. In order to give himself as much of an advantage as possible, he’d have to get this horse up to an immediate gallop before the barrier fell away. Too soon and he’d break the barrier- awarding himself a 10 second penalty- too late and he’d take longer to catch up.

“...comes from a long line of rodeo cowboys on both sides of his family, and his own brother has won medals and money countless times in this very arena…”

His chest swelled at that. Logan would be proud of him, he just knew it.

“...bounced back from an unfortunate incident last year.”

Would they shut up already? Oscar tied the pigging string and placed it in his mouth before tying the lariat and gathering loops of rope in one hand. He took a long breath through his nose to calm himself, then turned to the chute operator to call for a calf.

A lever was pulled and the calf burst free, and Oscar followed a split second later, reaching the breakaway barrier just as it was released. He started swinging the rope with all his might, releasing it when the calf was in reach and hoping he’d succeed.

And he did.

The rope looped around the calf’s neck, and it hit the floor as the horse stopped and pulled back. Oscar, meanwhile, had already jumped to the floor and was bounding over. Thankfully, the calf was back on its feet by the time he reached it, so he wouldn’t have to wait for the thing to stand up again. It had to be on its feet for him to flank it.

So Oscar flanked it. He lifted the hefty animal up and turned it on its side, bringing it down and grabbing the pigging string out his mouth. The loop went around one foot, and he gathered two more legs to tie them together as quickly as he could. Perfect knot.

He jumped up and raised his hands in the air before jogging back to his horse and climbing on. The time on the screen said 7.6 seconds.

The calf didn’t break away, so he wasn’t disqualified, and Oscar couldn’t help the small, smug smile on his face.

Take that, Mike J Jones.

 

…

 

Argentina’s competitor was struggling, Oscar noted with a grimace. Their calf had dodged one throw, and- after losing precious seconds gathering up the rope- they were finding it difficult to corner it for another attempt. They chanced another throw and it succeeded, but the calf was having none of it. It ran this way and that and the competitor only just managed to catch it and lift it up before a horn resounded through the stadium, signalling that time was up.

Oscar winced at that. The competitor wouldn’t get an average and a chance at the prize that went with the best one, but hey, they could win some money in later go-rounds and events.

But- he realised- Argentina was the last country to compete in this particular go-round- and no one had beaten of his time yet- so that meant he’d won. He got the most puse money in this round, and he was delighted with himself. What an excellent way to start the tournament!

Hunapo wasn’t there at this moment to share the celebrations though; they were checking on Charlie in the petting zoo, letting her know her brother was alright. Oscar frowned at that; he’d been in a petting zoo when Charlie had found him, tears streaming down her face as she shouted at him to follow her, that Logan was hurt and an ambulance was on its way. And that Huna said they might all need to say their goodbyes…

Oscar shook his head. He didn’t want to think about that. Anything but that horrible day.

So he thought of something else, and to his surprise, it was a seemingly meaningless memory he settled on, one of a quiet day in New Zealand.

 

…

 

“This is how it’s done, boy,” Hunapo called from their horse, and Oscar- sat on the fence at the edge of the field with Charlie- rolled his eyes.

“Right, let’s see then.”

Huna kicked open a pen containing a single calf, who shot out, closely followed by their horse. Within seconds, Huna had a rope around its neck, and had dismounted. A few strides was all it took to catch up and Oscar watched in awe- and slight horror- as they lifted the thing up and brought it down again, tying three legs together with a piece of string.

“And Bob’s your uncle,” they sang as they threw their arms up. Oscar, meanwhile, had turned a little green.

“I don’t want to do that to a baby cow,” he mumbled as Huna approached him, and Charlie shook her head at that.

“Well what do you want to do then?” Huna raised an eyebrow, wiping their hands on their shirt.

Oscar glanced around them, once more looking at the calf on the ground. “I want to be a vegetarian.”

Hunapo blinked. “Careful now kid, or Logan’ll be turning in his grave.”

 

"He doesn't have a grave! He has an urn!"

“Is the baby cow okay though?” Charlie looked at them curiously.

“Of course! Though I should go untie ‘em,” Huna chuckled as they dashed off.

“I don’t think I can do this, Charlie,” Oscar whimpered.

“I don’t think you can either,” she replied, “so I guess it’s up to you to prove me wrong.”

 

…

 

He’d messed up big time.

Michael’s heart was pounding furiously, threatening to burst through his chest and even his horse seemed to notice, as the beast was exceptionally skittish. He’d not tied his pigging string tight enough; he could see the thing slipping, and had the calf not been too stunned to struggle, it would have broken free and he’d be disqualified for this go-round. If that happened, he wouldn't get an average.

Beads of sweat formed in his hands whilst his mouth drained of all moisture. He was going to fail.

But six seconds passed and the calf didn’t get up. He gave a deep sigh and turned the horse around, leading it back to the box, hating himself silently as he went.

This whole thing was a disaster.

It was Oscar! The stupid little prince had pushed ahead and that made Michael’s blood boil. He was still half-expecting the guy to fall off his horse and cry in one of the go-rounds, or get tangled in the rope or sit on the horse the wrong way round, and he’d be able to laugh at him, but no. He’d won! That guy had actually won the event? How?!

Michael, on the other hand, had only won one go-round, and in another, awarded himself a ten second penalty for breaking the barrier. The whole event was a disaster and he only had himself to blame: he was too hotheaded and reckless for his own good. But of course, he decided to channel his self-hatred at Oscar instead.

It was his fault somehow! It had to be. He distracted Michael and got ahead! But Mike wouldn’t be fooled next time! He’d beat the bastard at every other event though, and that would show him! Tie down roping wasn’t his strong point- or team roping, for that matter- but everything else? Fair game. He’d win all the events, and the trophy, then Oscar could go fuck himself.

 

Although the 18-25s tie down roping was tomorrow, the next event he was in wasn't for a few days, so he had some time to get in a few hours extra training. And the next event was steer wrestling, his favourite timed event!

Matt and Samantha were waiting for him in the box, and by their grimaces he could tell they'd also seen his pigging string fiasco.

“Don’t even start,” he muttered.

“You were very lucky,” Matt commented.

“I know, I know.”

“Something on your mind?” Samantha asked, leading her cousins outside. “You seemed a little distracted out there.”

“Nothing,” Mike replied quickly, cheeks flushed.

“Well what is it?” Matt joined in.

“It’s that fucker! The Aussie with the hair, he beat me.”

“Cooper? Yeah I noticed. And you have a problem with that?”

“Yes!” Michael threw his hands in the air, “he’s so annoying and fancy and I can’t believe that pissweak girly boy fucking won the entire thing!”

“Well I wouldn’t call him pissweak,” Matt reasoned, "he lifted those calves up pretty lively."

“And you came third, didn’t you?” Samantha added, “out of 10, that’s pretty good. And you got a fair bit of purse money.”

“I know but I wanted to beat Oscar so badly! He annoys the fuck outta me.”

“Okay calm down son,” Samantha muttered, raising her hands, “you’re letting him get to you and you're being a dick, not only is that bad sportsmanship but getting worked up like that opens you up to mistakes.”

“Sam’s right,” continued Matt, ignoring how Michael rolled his eyes, “I was always pretty desperate to win against Alfred all the time, and he could get under my skin a lot. But it’s better to focus on yourself, then it’ll be easier to win.”

“Yeah, fine, whatever,” Michael shrugged, “I’ll just ignore him then! Easy peasy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, it seems Hutt took to being a cowboy like Jon Richardson took to… being a cowboy. Don’t know who he is? Right, he’s an English comedian and if you want to understand my previous sentence, watch his standup dvd ‘Nidiot’ which is on youtube. He’s a really funny comedian, I relate to him a lot and he’s also a large part of my inspiration behind writing Arthur and Roderich, actually. And Hutt, with the whole cowboy thing.  
> Real man’s road trip (also starring Jon) was another inspiration, and the first episode was about the Creole Cowboys, and worth the watch if you can find it online (I watched it on 4OD).  
> Another new source of inspiration is Johnny Cash's music, as if this au wasn't sad enough I needed to involve a singer whose music makes me so miserable I lose the will to live. So perfect for this fic then, hehe.  
> Also I will forever headcanon Oz as being personally offended by the concept of vegetatianism and and is just like '...but... steak and sausages!' at vegetarians. Like, he's so anti-vegetarian he could get food poisoning from quorn and tofu.  
> Taking predictions for what you think will happen in this, just letting you know. In fact I encourage predictions because I'm curious.  
> Yeah I don’t know if I’ll be updating this next or something else. I supposed I could work on Just Kids, or something I haven’t updated in a long while. Who knows? Oh, and if you need any rodeo terminology explaining, just ask. ...Not a sentence I'd ever expect myself to type.  
> Either way, please tell me what you think so far. I want to know!


	6. Bronc

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, sorry for the delay with this story, though I have been updating other things. This is a pretty slow, calmer chapter and the action will pick up next chapter. This one is more to explore feelings and emotions, and let some characters just interact with each other, and explain a bit about rodeo, for the benefit of Arthur and Natalya, and readers who aren't familiar with rodeo (which is basically what Arthur and Natalya are for in this fic: representing people who know fuck all about rodeo and weren't raised in any of the countries that have it).  
> Anyway, please enjoy!

Natalya was starting to think coming here was a terrible mistake.

This trip was supposed to help her, to finally put Alfred and what happened behind her so she could move on and be happy. She’d been determined to come here, even though her siblings had told her it would be a bad idea. Natalya didn’t listen. She knew her own heart, she told them, and had contacted Matthew anyway.

But this whole endeavour had been for nothing. Absolutely nothing. Really though, what had she been expecting? Things to magically heal themselves in a day?

Everything here reminded her of Alfred; after all, this was Alfred’s world and she was only a guest, a spectator. She was where he loved to be, surrounded by his family and watching a sport he’d competed in for a living.

Living? She wrinkled her nose; hardly the right choice of words.

Maybe she was just hoping he’d have left a ghost. Then they could talk one more time and she could tell him everything she’d been afraid to when he was alive.

It was odd, wondering where they would be now if he was alive. She sat on one of the armchairs in the hotel reception, staring at her empty coffee mug as she pondered that. They didn’t have any long term plans, or at least ones they’d discussed with each other. What future would they have had? Would she have eventually moved over to the country, to live with him and his brothers and farm? Would she even have liked living in the US? Would he have moved to Minsk? He found the place nice enough- beautiful even- if a little nerve-wracking, but didn’t really get along with her brother. But he wouldn’t have been able to participate in rodeo there… maybe he could’ve tried hockey instead? He liked hockey too.

Another possibility was that their differences and the distance would have driven them apart, and they’d be nothing more than strangers by now. Natalya plaited a lock of hair, telling herself that would still have been a better path. Yes, she would still be alone, and even if after they’d gone their separate ways they never contacted each other again, she would be safe with the knowledge that he was alive and well.

But he wasn’t. He’d been barely an adult when he died and she wanted to think they’d have had a future, that he would’ve had a future ahead of him, with or without her. But that hurt- so much- to dwell on.

“Oh, Natasha, isn’t it?”

She looked up to find Arthur a few feet away, glancing over curiously. He’d replaced his black trousers and white shirt with a pair of shorts and an old band t-shirt, and was currently applying generous dollops of suncream to his face and arms. He wasn’t taking the heat at all well, and she could certainly sympathise. How did the others even manage?

“Natalya,” she glared at him, “close enough, I guess.”

“Arthur,” he gave a toothy smile and sat down on the armchair next to her, eyes crinkled at the corners.

Natalya leaned back, tilting her head to look at him; “hit me up with some of that sunscreen.”

“Cream, suncream,” but he handed her the bottle regardless.

This wasn’t something Natalya would normally let slide, but she just smiled to herself. “It’s a habit I picked up from Alfred. Besides, I believe sunscreen is more fitting here, yes?”

Arthur rolled his eyes, “I still don’t have to like it. But Alfred was Sam’s cousin, right?”

She couldn’t help it; Natalya flinched at the use of ‘was’. The woman prayed Arthur hadn’t noticed, and busied herself with applying cream to her arms.

“He is.”

Arthur nodded, clearly uncomfortable. “I heard what happened, what he meant to you and all. I, well, I’m sure he was a lovely young man.”

“I see. Well he definitely was, yes. But does it worry you?” Natalya didn’t know why she was asking this. To move the conversation away from how much of a loss to her Alfred was? “Do you ever fear Samantha going the same way?”

Now it was Arthur’s turn to wince. “It’s not something I want to think about.”

“ _Is_ it something you’ve thought about?”

“On occasion,” Arthur sighed, “but I try not to. Samantha… she’s never been seriously injured and I’ve not really been around to see any minor injuries. To be honest, it’s not often I get to see her compete.”

“Do you worry about her when you’re not around her?”

“A bit, I mean, she’s a grown woman and can look after herself… I think… Oh, of course I worry,” Arthur sighed, “I understand what she’s doing is dangerous, but it hasn’t sunk in completely.”

“I know what you mean,” Natalya chewed on a nail, “I never thought Alfred would actually die.”

That brought little comfort to Arthur. “Look, it was absolutely riveting talking to you and all, but I’m off to find Sam. Oh, by the way, try not to mention to her that I’m worried about her. She’d never let me hear the end of it.”

"My lips are sealed." Natalya stood up, handing him back his suncream. “She’s outside with her cousin; I’ll take you there, if you want.”

“That would be lovely,” Arthur looked like the last thing he wanted was to spend more time with Natalya, but he was too polite to refuse her offer.

“They’re doing well, Samantha and Michael,” Natalya commented as they walked outside, even the morning light proving a little too much for them.

“I hope so, though I really don’t understand the rules or events or anything,” Arthur admitted with a groan. “It’s not really something we have back home.”

“Likewise,” Natalya shrugged, “I’ve been out of this for a while, and even when I was visiting last time I didn’t really get it.”

“Not something that interests you?” Arthur smiled, “me neither. But it’s Sam’s life, so…”

“Indeed. It was nice watching Alfred compete, well, before he was killed. That was, honestly, well…”

“The worst moment of your life?” Arthur offered.

“Close, second worst. The worst moment was in the hospital when the doctor told me he was dead, that there was nothing they could do.” Her lip curled into a snarl. “At least when he was lying in the arena he was still alive and there was still hope.”

“It must have been awful,” Arthur looked down.

“Indeed it was. Still, I’m sure he would not want me to be like this.”

“He wouldn’t, from what I’ve heard of him,” Arthur tentatively reached over and patted her shoulder. Natalya, despite herself, smiled back.

“Cigarette?” she offered, pulling a packet out of her pocket and holding it open for him.

“Love one. Been gasping for a fag since I got here.” Oblivious to Natalya’s look of horror, Arthur took a cigarette and held it between his teeth.

“Got a light?” he asked. She nodded weakly, handing one over and wondering if she should say anything to Sam. Was it her place to?

“Cheers,” Arthur looked up, as he lit his cigarette and handed back the lighter; “oh, a fag is a cigarette. Well, it is in England, but not here apparently.”

“A relief to know. Old habits?”

“Yeah, and it’s funny too. Oh, there they are,” he began, nodding as the two cousins, both sitting in the boot of Samantha’s jeep, lifting weights and talking, Daisy lying in a pool at Mike’s feet and panting heavily.

“Morning,” he called.

“Oh, hi sweetie,” Samantha called back, “morning Natalya.” Michael wrinkled his nose at the cigarette smoke.

“I think I’m going to melt,” Natalya grumbled as she leaned against the car.

“Well try not to on the paintwork; I've just had this thing waxed,” Sam replied, not taking her eyes off the dumbbells in her hand. Arthur couldn’t help but stare as she worked out, leaning against the open jeep door.

“May I have a go?” he asked, and Sam grinned.

“Sure,” she paused and passed one of the dumbbells over, which Arthur took in both his hands.

And he subsequently fell over with a yelp.

Only Michael laughed at the sorry heap on the floor, splayed out next to the dumbbell, which he banged his wrist on as he hit the ground. His cigarette was knocked from his mouth, missing his hair by inches.

“Sweetie are you okay?” cried Samantha whilst Natalya suppressed a giggle.

“Oh bollocks,” he grunted, picking himself up and lifting the dumbbell with all his strength to haul it onto the boot next to Sam. “I think that’s enough for me. Don’t want to overdo it.”

“Of course,” Samantha winked.

“How do you two even lift so much?” Natalya tried the weight, but couldn’t even budge it.

“Practice,” replied Samantha, “started with little ones as a kid and worked my way up.”

“Gotta be tough against those steers,” added Michael, “fuckers don’t come down easy.”

“What’s a steer?” asked Natalya.

“Some sort of cow, I think,” replied Arthur.

“A male cow,” Samantha explained.

Natalya frowned. “Isn’t that a bull?”

“Nah, bulls aren’t castrated, steers are,” Michael scratched his chin, “that’s why they’re really fucking easy to go up against, compared to bulls anyway.”

“And how do you ‘go up against’ steers again?” asked Natalya, trying to remember which event involved the beasts. All those events seemed the same to her, especially now that she’d forgotten most of them.

“Do you ride them?” Arthur asked. He sat down on the floor, cradling his injured wrist, and Samantha shot him a sympathetic look. Daisy stood up and began licking his arm, which made him chuckle, at least.

“Nah, what happens is way more badass!” cried Michael, setting his smaller weights down. “You start on a horse and run after the steer and grab its horns. It pulls you off then you have to wrestle it to the ground!” He got up on his knees, gesturing wildly as he explained. “It’s my favourite timed event and it’s so motherfucking cool!”

Daisy gave a tired yelp, and Mike picked up a water bottle next to him, unscrewing the lid and pouring water into a little bowl for her. She seemed to perk up as he set it down next to her.

“Sounds wild,” Arthur commented, “so what are the other timed events?”

“Calf roping, or tie down roping, which you just watched us compete in,” Samantha replied, wiping her brow and leaning back. She’d done enough weight lifting for today, she decided; no point in overdoing it and injuring herself. “Team roping, barrel racing, and pole bending, though the last two are only for the under 18s. We don’t need to be pussying around with little kid’s events; those are for the rookies.”

“Nice,” Michael replied gruffly, throwing his cousin a glare. “There’s the roughstock events too: the saddle bronc, bareback bronc and bullriding.”

“Do I even want to know what bareback bronc is?” Arthur raised an eyebrow, trying to hold back a laugh.

“It’s riding on a bucking horse without a saddle,” Mike waved a hand, “what’s so weird about that?”

“Sweetie, you don’t need to know,” Sam said hurriedly, “look, maybe we should talk about something else now. It seems you two sure got a lotta questions.”

“But I wanna know what’s so fucking funny!” Michael whined.

“Google it.”

“Shut up Arthur!” Sam snapped.

“What countries are competing?” asked Natalya, “I know it’s a world championship, but I can’t think of all that many countries who give a toss about rodeo, besides America.”

“Well rodeo started in Mexico, for one thing,” Samantha replied, “so they usually send in competitors. Plus Matt used to represent Canada before he packed it in. Someone else is representing it this year though.”

“Then there’s Australia and New Zealand,” Mike added, eye twitching, “and the Philippines too, I think.”

“Plus more Latin Americans,” finished Sam, “Argentina, Brazil, Colombia and Venezuela are the ones that entered this year. Sometimes other countries- like Ecuador and South Africa- join in and sometimes they don’t bother. We have ten countries in total this year, with two competitors each. Oh, and the USA usually hosts this event.”

“Well, that doesn’t sound like too much competition, I guess,” Arthur scratched his chin, “not as much as the World Cup or Eurovision at least.”

“Well soccer and singing are more universal, his is pretty niche,” Samantha laughed. The corner of Arthur’s mouth twitched, but he said nothing.

“So is it a big event then?” asked Natalya.

“Oh indeed!” exclaimed Samantha, “World Championships are pretty big in any sport, and this one’s really famous, cause as well as getting an average and your purse money, the first six get points for each event. Like, 6 points for first place, five for second and so on, which are added up after all the events and the cowboy with the most points gets a neat trophy and more money too. That’s why it’s so popular!”

Arthur nodded in understanding.

“So who’s winning so far?” asked Natalya.

“Me,” Samantha beamed, “and I place to keep it that way!”

“I’m third in my category,” Michael grumbled.

“Well, there’s still plenty of time, chap,” Arthur told him, “I’m sure you’ll climb up the leaderboard.”

“Fuck yeah I will!” cried Michael, “no one’s gonna beat me! I’ll kick their asses!” he punched the air furiously, causing Sam’s car to rock.

“Go do a lap of the parking lot,” she told him, pushing him out of the car, “go on, off with ya!”

“Fine,” Mike rolled his eyes, scrambling up and setting off in a jog with Daisy following close behind. As soon as he was out of earshot, Samantha shook her head and turned to the other two.

“God I worry about that kid sometimes…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...Ever set a story with Molossia as the main character in Texas... and forget Molossia had an embargo on Texas products. Well, I don't think the embargo is still in force, but Molossia had one. So yeah, I probably should've remembered that and set this in another state. Not gonna, but I should've.  
>  Well... maybe he could get Kelly Clarkson's autograph whilst he's here.  
> Also, let's face it, language (or even slanguage) barriers can be pretty dang funny at times.


	7. Bulldogging

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took longer than expected, aha. I thought I'd never get it done!  
> Not only is it a long chapter, I had a fair bit of research to do, was making an 8tracks mix to help me write (kinda counter-productive, I know. But at least I have it now), and checking my email every five minutes to see if anyone commented/reviewed the last chapter. Oh well, it wasn't that interesting anyway. Not like this one! This one has blood in it and everything!  
> So enjoy!

“I am not strong enough for this,” Oscar stated flatly, with such conviction that Hunapo paused in brushing their hair, turning round to look at him in concern.

“What makes you say that?”

Oscar shrugged, sat on his bed hugging his knees and glaring at his socks, clean and white against the mud-coloured sheets. Even with a sport like this, he tried to keep himself as clean and tidy as possible; he hated being covered in dirt for too long; and besides, a quick shower was the perfect way to relax after a long day’s training and preparation. He liked having a bit of order in his life, and it was safe to say he really needed something to relax him.

The next event was tomorrow, and he was dreading it. He was so bad at steer wrestling! It was something he’d barely scraped through ever since he’d started and he always injured himself somehow. Well, it was the most dangerous timed event for a reason, and he was a few dozen pounds lighter than the average competitor, which put him at even more of a disadvantage. He’d come fifth in the national competition, and it was only his victories in the other timed events that put him ahead of the competition.

“You know I’m no good at it,” he eventually mumbled, “what if I get disqualified from the event because I’m so terrible?”

Even Charlie had pulled her head out of the minibar now, nibbling a chocolate bar and gazing up at him, watching him closely as they talked.

“Well you’re not terrible,” Hunapo tried.

Oscar threw them a withering glare. “Thanks.”

“We can’t be good at everything,” they continued, placing their hair brush in one of the desk drawers.

“I think you are,” Oscar muttered, “there doesn’t seem to be anything you can’t do.”

“I can’t tap-dance,” Hunapo laughed, “or sing opera.”

“I mean at rodeo dammit! You’re so good at all the events and I’m just… awful.”

Hunapo shook their head. “This may come as a shock to you, Cooper, but that might be because I’ve been doing this since I was little and you only started two years ago. You’re practically ametaur and that’s fine! Sure, you’re not the best at this event, but you learnt from the best and you’re getting better; isn’t that enough?”

Oscar nodded, “it is, usually. But I’m still worried about getting hurt again.” Charlie had been silent all through the conversation, but when Oscar said that, she stood up and walked over to his bed, snuggling up to him.

“It’s not the worst event,” Hunapo reminded him, “you still have the roughstock to go too.”

“I know,” Oscar growled, pulling his sister closer, “I’m scared of those too. I mean, if I’m too light for steer wrestling then how can I cope in the broncs?”

“The same way you’ve coped before, I guess,” Huna shrugged, “and technique and balance is just as important as strength in these events, and you have both of those. It just needs work, and you’ve worked hard.”

“It doesn’t feel en-”

“You trained hard today, and you’ll be fine tomorrow.”

“If you say so,” Oscar stroked Charlie’s hair as she continued to chew on her overpriced hotel snack.

Hunapo didn’t speak for a long while. “I know I called you an ametaur-”

“Which I am.”

“Well, I think that it’s unfair to call someone who managed to get into a competition like this ametaur. You’re one of the big boys now, kiddo.”

“Good to know,” Oscar laughed; “congratulations for today, by the way. First place huh? Blimey.”

“I know, right? Glad you could take the time to cheer me on,” Hunapo grinned and flopped onto their own bed, sprawled across its matching brown sheets and lumpy mattress. With all this travel between Australia, New Zealand and now America, they’d had to be particularly stingy with their budget, as even their combined purse money wasn’t enough to splash out on luxury accommodation. Oscar was used to living a little rough, and he didn’t mind so much, but he looked forward to the day when he was professional enough to afford the best hotels. They suited him more, really.

“Anything for the best teacher and okay-est guardian.”

A pillow went flying through the air and hit Oscar in the face, Charlie squealed with laughter as he let out a grunt and threw the pillow back.

“Okay-est guardian my arse,” they joked as the pillow hit them in the stomach.

“Yeah, I don’t know anyone else who’d put up with teaching this guy anything for two whole years,” Charlie commented, and Hunapo nodded in agreement.

“Hey! I wasn’t that bad!”

“You weren’t,” Hunapo threw him a smile, “once you stopped screaming every time you grabbed the steer’s horns.”

“Well you can’t blame me for being frightened,” Oscar mumbled.

“Can I blame you for throwing yourself under the steer every time you tried to wrestle it?”

“I needed dead bodyweight to bring it down! Maybe you weren’t such a good teacher after all,” Oscar turned his nose up jokingly and looked away.

“Oh really? Then I guess you won’t want any advice from me for the rest of the rodeo,” Hunapo raised an eyebrow, smirking.

“Well not if it’s just going to be ‘you’ll be fine’,” Oscar stuck his tongue out and pulled himself off the bed, leaving Charlie to snuggle up under the sheets with her toy rabbit, Lollopy, and his toy bilby: Allirea. Poor Charlie was stuck sleeping on the sofa, but neither Oscar or Hunapo wanted to do their back in sleeping on it and besides, she was the smallest and youngest. She could handle it for a few weeks.

Then again, those beds weren’t any comfier, Oscar noted as he rubbed his back, wincing slightly.

He wandered over to the window, where an ornate, wooden cremation urn was sat on little table, and picked it up, shoving Charlie’s blanket and pillow to the side as he sat down on the sofa.

Logan still went everywhere with them; they all insisted on it. For comfort? In a way. He’d been there for Oscar and Charlie all their lives and if they could keep even a part of him with them forever, then they would do it. It was better not to dwell on what exactly ‘Logan’ consisted of now- not unless they wanted to make themselves miserable- and they merely thought of the box as containing his presence. His spirit or ghost, in a way. Childish, they knew, but they weren’t quite willing to say goodbye just yet.

He ran a finger over the intricate carvings in the wood, detailed drawings of wildlife painted in browns and yellows and blues. Was this really all that was left of his brother? Some ash in a box that was a present from their grandfather? It was a nice box, perfect for Logan’s ashes of all things, but it still hurt to think of what Logan Apari Cooper had been reduced to. All because of one silly mistake…

And that was why they didn’t dwell on it.

“You can talk you him, you know?” Hunapo commented, “me and Charlie do it all the time. There’s no need to be embarrassed about it.”

Oscar squirmed. “I’m fine. If there’s something I needed to say to him, then I should’ve said it when he was alive. No point now he can’t hear me.”

Now it was Hunapo’s turn to wince. “It helps though, if you’re willing to believe he’s listening.”

“Well I can’t, I’m sorry.” Oscar continued to stroke the lid of the urn. He refused to do something so childish, at least not in front of the others, but holding his brother still brought him comfort.

“He won’t be giving you any advice though,” Hunapo chuckled, “so I guess you’re stuck with mine. I’ll try to keep it helpful though.”

Oscar laughed. “Thank you, I’d appreciate it.” He sighed and stretched, setting the urn back on the table and standing up. “Still, I need a good night’s sleep for tomorrow and I’m sure you’re knackered too; want to call it a night?”

“Indeed. My arse is sore and my legs will be numb tomorrow, I can tell you;” Hunapo buried their face in their pillow. “Still, you’ll need all your strength, kid. You’ve got some tough competition tomorrow.”

 

…

 

Alfred cheered and whooped as he dashed past them on his horse, completing a lap of the paddock before making his way towards their makeshift box. Mike laughed as he bit into his burger, wiping sauce from his chin and waving wildly with his other arm. Matthew was next to him, chuckling away quietly. The sun glared down on them and there was little in the way of wind, and in the distance they could just see their mother outside the house, hanging washing out on the line.

They still weren’t used to each other, Mike and Matt. Matt had only come back into their lives a few months ago- occasionally visiting with permission from his father- and Michael wasn’t too sure what to make of him just yet; they’d only met a few times. He seemed nice enough though, if a little quiet, which in all honesty made him hard to get to know. There was a seven year age difference too, and although Mike adored Alfred, Matthew seemed more grown up and calm, and he was terrified of appearing annoying to him. Sixteen was so old to him!

Something crunchy and hot caught his attention, and he scowled as he spat his mouthful of burger onto the ground. That idiot!

“What the hell?” he cried, making Matthew jump, “Alfie knows I hate onions! What’s wrong with him?!”

“I’ve been asking myself that since before we were born,” Matthew joked, and Mike couldn’t help grinning at that. He picked slices of onion from his burger and threw them on the floor.

“So you’re a cowboy too,” Mike asked after a few moments silence, and Matthew nodded.

“Indeed. Been into it since I was little. Like Alfie, it seems. Funny that, growing up so far apart and having the same hobby without knowing.”

“I want to be a cowboy too,” Mike pointed out, looking up at Matthew with a big grin. His half-brother smiled back.

“So that makes three of us.”

“Do you think I could be one?” Michael asked, taking another bite and looking up at him apprehensively. Matt looked smart, like he could give a decent answer; he loved Alfred but damn it could be hard to have a conversation with him sometimes.

Matthew thought for a long moment, carefully considering. When he spoke, his voice was soft, and Mike had to strain his ears to hear him, despite standing next to the boy. “If you want to be, then go for it. You have the perfect life for it anyway, and I’m sure Alfie and I can teach you all we know.”

“You think?” Michael beamed at him.

“Of course. We both have different strengths too, so I’m sure you’d get a pretty good education. It’ll be fun, I think, and it’ll give us a chance to get to know each other. I can’t believe I know so little about my baby brother.”

They watched Alfred in the distance, chasing after a steer on his horse. He leaned forward to grab its horns and was pulled off the horse as he dug his feet into the ground and the steer came to a halt. With a single twist, the thing was flipped over, feet in the air as Alfred jumped up with a whoop.

“That steer don’t look too happy,” Mike commented.

“That might be because you’re eating its mom.”

“Oh well.” Michael shrugged, finished his burger and looked down, scuffing the toe of his boot in the dirt. “You called me your baby brother. Does that mean you don’t hate me then?”

Matthew wheeled round to look at him in horror; “why would I hate you?”

“Oh you know why.”

“Hey dudes, look what I can do!” Alfred ran over to them, pulling out a pair of pistols from the holsters around his waist and firing them in the air, dancing in a circle as he did so. “Shots! Shots! Shots! Shots! Shots!” His singing was barely heard over the sounds of gunshots.

Michael burst out laughing, though Matthew looked anything but impressed.

“Stop that,” he snapped, “you could hurt someone.”

Alfred rolled his eyes. “Sorry Mattie, I’ll make sure to check for hot air balloons next time I fire upwards;” he laughed at his own joke, Michael joining in.

“It’s dangerous to play with guns,” Matthew scolded, waggling a finger in Alfred’s face. Michael looked between the two, unsure of what to say now. He noted that with most of their squabbles, he was the middle ground between two extremes, though he tended to lean towards Alfred; sometimes Matthew could be too serious for him. Not here though. He did see where Matt was coming from and- if he was honest- didn’t like Alfred messing about with their mother’s pistols.

“Hey no sweat,” Alfred pointed one of the pistols at Matt’s forehead, and the latter scowled. “I’m firing blanks! Ma doesn’t keep bullets where we can get ‘em.”

“Still, get that thing out of my face,” he swiped the barrel of the gun away.

“Hey come on bro,” Alfred finally put the things back in their holsters, “sorry for scarin’ ya. I just wanted to make you and Mickey laugh.”

“I’m laughing on the inside,” Matthew assured him, though Alfred didn’t pick up on the sarcasm.

“Look, I’m sure you’re tired of training, right?” Michael tried, “I’m kinda bored of watching you and want to do something else.”

Alfred and Matthew stared at him for a moment, before turning back to each other.

“Horse riding?” Alfred suggested, “we could saddle up a couple for you and do a lap of the farm.”

“I’d like that,” Mike looked up at Matthew hopefully.

“I don’t know. That’s a fair way to travel,” Matthew sighed, “would we even make it back before dark?”

“We would if we were fast,” Alfred winked, “and we’d work up an appetite in time for dinner.”

Matthew still didn’t look convinced, and Alfred let out a whine, nudging his twin with his elbow and pouting. “Come on,” he whinged, “I bet I could beat you.”

That did the trick.

“Oh you’re on,” his eyes gleamed and he straightened his hat.

“We’ll see, punk,” Alfred flashed them a grin.

“Enough of the trash talk, guys; it could get nasty in here,” Michael joked, and his brothers laughed.

“So you can ride a horse, huh?” asked Matthew.

Mike puffed out his chest. “Course! Better than you, most likely!”

Matthew laughed at that, leaning down to ruffle his hair.

“Oh Mickey,” he cooed, though there was a sinister edge to his voice, “no one rides a horse better than I can.”

 

...

 

Michael’s horse burst from the box a split second after the steer left the chute, just missing the barrier. Another second, and he’d leaned over and grabbed the thing’s horns, pulling himself off the horse and planting his feet in the dirt. One hand still on the steer’s horns, he hooked his elbow under the thing’s jaw and twisted its neck, sending it to the ground with some difficulty.

3.5 seconds!

He jumped up and threw his hat in the air, catching it as he grinned at the crowd. Not a bad time! 4.2 for his first round, and now this added to his average had put him in the lead. Well, steer wrestling wasn’t his favourite timed even for no reason!

The crowd cheered and clapped, and he saw Matt, Samantha and Natalya clapping with them, Matt clearly more impressed than he wished to be. Mike threw them a grin before jogging back to the box, now containing Oscar and his horse, and climbing over the rails to where the other competitors stood, talking quietly to each other or looking on in interest. He stood between Mexico and Brazil's competitors, hands on the railing of the box as Oscar tried to calm a particularly skittish horse, which seemed pretty keen to burst free. It lunged to the side, but Oscar pulled on the reins to stop it crashing into the bars.

He looked nervous, Mike noted. Very nervous indeed, and had throughout the event so far, despite getting a reasonable 4.7 in the first round. Mike would’ve been happy with that. Not ecstatic, but not overly miserable either. But was there something else bothering him? Mike didn’t care too much to find out exactly what, but something was scaring Oscar to the point where his horse could feel it too, and by the looks of things he was pretty terrified.

Oscar managed to steady the horse enough give a nod, and the chute burst open. He dashed after the steer, kept in line by a hazer on horseback. He lunged forward and grabbed the steer’s horns as he came off the horse, landing rather painfully on his backside, still being dragged along by the steer.

Mike winced, but even as he did so, Oscar had pulled himself up- grin unrelenting- and was bringing the steer to the ground. He seemed to be struggling, but managed nonetheless and was clearly chuffed as he stood up, dusting down his chaps and trousers, though his smile fell slightly when he saw his time: 5.6 seconds.

Was Michael supposed to be this pleased? He couldn’t help it, but his mind filled with glee at Oscar’s thin lips, pulled into a frown as he hung his head and walked back to the box. He glared at his dust-covered boots, trying not to let the full extent of his irritation show as he climbed the rail and joined them, the next competitor already in the box.

Mike looked down at his shirt, continuing to smile to himself.

 

…

 

He thought he was imagining it at first, but no, Oscar was definitely scowling at him.

Mike could only look him in the eyes and smile, the gloating, smug smile only someone in first place could throw at the runner up. It was the last go-round, and disqualifications and time penalties had somehow miraculously propelled Oscar to second by default. The irritating motherfucker had seemed happy enough about that throughout the event, but now that Michael was mounting his horse to start, the boy had suddenly turned sour.

Michael stared him down, and eventually Oscar lowered his gaze. Huh, it seemed he was the superior one after all, Michael noted as he got comfortable on the saddle, slipping his feet into the stirrups and taking the reins. He just got lucky in the calf roping, that’s all. He wouldn’t be that much of a fucking threat to him after all, and if Michael worked hard- and was lucky- he would win this thing. Then people would know his name.

Oscar was nothing compared to him.

Yet- unless he screwed up badly- he was second, and there wasn’t much in it. Michael just shrugged; maybe he’d fall on his arse again.

But at this moment, he just had to make sure he didn’t mess up, and now really wasn’t the time to be thinking of the competition. He sat up straight and gave a nod, and once more found himself bolting after a steer. Each go round seemed to be getting quicker and quicker, and he barely registered catching up to the steer and throwing himself at its horns. He was on his feet in a flash and used his remaining strength to twist its neck one more time, sending it to the floor. He wiped his brow with the back of his hand, panting heavily and doubled over as he read the score on the screen: 2.8. His best time ever.

With a huge grin plastered on his face, he jogged back and vaulted the railing, noting that his family was making their way through the crowd to greet him. Samantha reached him first, and he pushed past the other competitors to meet her behind the box.

“Well done,” she cooed, pulling him into a hug and ruffling his hair, causing the boy to cry out in embarrassment.

“Not in public!” he hissed, and Samantha laughed as she let go.

“Aw, what’s wrong? Too old for hugs?”

“Fucking yes,” he grumbled.

“Don’t mind him, Sam,” Matt began as he joined them, “he’s always been too old for hugs.”

“It’s true,” Michael knelt down as Daisy crashed into him, smothering his face in licks and tickling him with her shaggy coat.

“Except for the dog, it seems,” Samantha pouted as she watched Mike throw his arms around Daisy.

“Of course!”

“Well, good job out there,” Matthew piped up, “it pains me to admit this, but you did well and… I’m proud of you.”

Michael paused, smiling into his shirt as he stroked Daisy’s fur. “Cheers, you sappy motherfucker.”

A collective groan from the other competitors caught his attention, and he straightened up to find Oscar had pulled the steer to the ground before jumping back. He ignored the time on the board- 3.4- clutching his arm and stumbling in the dirt before crashing to his knees.

“Oh, and it seems Cooper was grazed by the steer’s horns,” the commentator was booming, “not a good sign, but thankfully he managed to complete that round and secure second place-”

“Oscar!” Charlie nearly sent Michael flying as she barged past him, darting past the other competitors and climbing into the rail to get a better look, but her brother was already on his feet. He staggered slightly as the hazer pulled up alongside him, talking to him out of Mike’s hearing range, and Oscar showed him his arm, nodding at something he said before making his way to the edge of the arena.

“Oscar, what’s wrong?” Charlie cried the moment he reached the railing, and Oscar shrugged, climbing over before showing her his arm, and the blood slowly covering his torn sleeve. Michael gripped Daisy’s collar as he and the other contestants leaned forward, and a barrage of questions were launched at him.

“It’s just a scratch!” Oscar insisted, laughing the situation off as he and Charlie made their way through the crowd, presumably to find Hunapo.

“Looks sore,” Michael commented as the other passed him, and Oscar winced, trying to hide his arm from sight.

“I’m fine,” he muttered, “nothing serious; it’ll heal in a few days, no problem.”

“You sure? You really fucking sure?” Mike grabbed his wrist to take a closer look. He was right, it seemed; the wound ran the length of his lower arm, but was shallow, and certainly not life threatening.

“Yes, I’m sure. Happy?” Oscar snatched his hand away and Mike shrugged.

“Well aren’t you brave,” Samantha commented with a chuckle, “when I was your age I was still crying over every little injury.”

“Well I broke my arm last year, ma'am, so it’s hardly anything new,” Oscar beamed up at her, “it’s just a badge of courage, huh?”

“It sure is,” Sam poked at his hat, “well aren’t you a polite young man. You could teach Mikey here a thing or two.”

The pair of them pulled a face, and Oscar shook his head.

“Possibly,” he forced out before walking away, Charlie in tow. She was still glaring at his arm, at the shreds of purple flapping about mockingly as he walked away from the crowd, and at the dark red mark against bronze.

“I’m fine,” he insisted when he caught her staring.

“Don’t look it.”

“Oh what would you know,” Oscar spat, “and thanks for congratulating me, by the way. I really appreciate it.”

“I was too busy worrying if you were okay,” Charlie spat back.

“I guess it was a waste of time bringing you along if you aren’t going to shower me in praise,” Oscar turned his nose up; “I thought you weren’t going to watch me compete anyway.”

“Well, I didn’t realise you were the kind of fanny who gets injured in steer wrestling!”

“It’s a dangerous event!” Oscar wheeled round and prodded her stomach.

“No one else got injured,” Charlie noted.

“No, they just got no-times and 10 second penalties instead. That’s why I beat them.”

Charlie snorted. “You didn’t beat the seppo.”

“Yeah, Michael beat me. So what? Who cares? I guess you can’t have it all.” Oscar folded his arms.

“It’s usually what you strive for: perfection and everything.”

“Woah, what happened?” Hunapo had finally caught up with them, at the back of the stand near the exit. “You’re bleeding?” They looked down at Oscar’s arm and raised their eyebrows.

“Only a little bit,” Oscar decided to ignore his sister from then on, at least until she was ready to stop making life difficult for him, “but I came second!”

“Well that’s good to hear. We’re knocking ‘em dead, aren’t we?”

“I’m certainly knocking something,” Oscar grumbled, “my arm stings like hell and every joint in my body aches so much! Like I've been trampled or something.”

Hunapo flinched before shaking their head; “unfortunately for you, the fun’s only just starting, kid.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So apparently you can take cremated relatives on planes. I did not know that until recently and I have to say I’m glad no one had to smuggle it up their arse. That would’ve been painful. Also, a wooden cremation urn looks pretty much the same as a wooden box [though Logan’s has Australian Aboriginal art on it] and are generally more practical for transport than ceramic urns, plus you can scan them at airports easily. Oh I’m just full of funeral and death-related trivia.  
> Onions are banned from Molossia, apparently. Along with spinach, cigarettes, walruses, guns and some other things, hence why he isn't an onion fan. Ugh do you even layer, Molly?  
> ...Sorry.  
> Hazers are assistants in the steer wrestling, and their job is to run parallel to the steers in order to keep them going straight and not veering off in different directions. I think the record time for steer wrestling is 2.4 or something.  
> Also seppo is Australian slang for an American… I think.


	8. Header

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uggghhh sorry for the delay, but in my defence, this is eleven pages on word, so it's pretty hefty to write. I wasn’t expecting this chapter to be so huge, or take so long. Damn, I wanted to leave plenty time to write and stockpile some more fic updates before I go on holiday, in two weeks. Still, if I focus I can get a few done so there’ll be stuff to read while I’m gone! Then again, I have the attention span of a rather dense goldfish.  
> Still, enjoy this chapter at least; it has backstory!

_Six years ago_

 

...

 

This new guy was taking some getting used to.

Hunapo glared at this annoyance that had ‘graced’ their life oh so recently: some Aussie twat bouncing around on a horse and making an awful racket; their new partner for the team roping, apparently. No way! No way in hell would they actually get along enough with this silly kid to actually win anything!

But he wasn’t a kid; in fact, Logan Cooper was a whole two years older than them and neither of them could really be considered children. Yet he still acted like a kid, or at least a reckless, over-excitable puppy… who made crude jokes and had already succeeded in offending them no less than 17 times- and Hunapo never got offended! Admittedly, 6 of those times were with his stupid face, and another 4 were from just existing.

And if he showed them another picture of his goddamn kid sister one more time they would actually scream.

No, they didn’t care about Chloe’s- or whatever her name was- funny habits or awful scribble drawings or love of rabbits, or his little brother’s- Oliver or Owen or whatever- ukulele lessons. What kind of sad excuse for a kid took ukulele lessons anyway? Hadn’t he heard of rugby? They certainly didn’t care to find out, and couldn’t wait for the event to be over so they could go back to kicking Cooper’s annoying butt and generally being rivals. That dynamic suited them far better, Hunapo decided.

They weren’t entering an Australian rodeo again; that was for sure. The New Zealand ones would have to do, though there weren’t too many and it would’ve been nice to earn a few extra hundred during their weeks off. Yes, Australia was a huge place, but they wanted to make extra sure they didn’t run into Logan fuckbag Cooper again, not for all the prize money in the world.

“So, you gonna sit around lookin' like a fucking idiot or are we gonna rope some steers?”

Hunapo looked up to find Cooper not only glaring at them from his horse, but doing so shirtless. Really now? It was boiling today, yes, but was that necessary? Not the worst view in the world though, and they did love a good shirtless cowboy. Especially ones as muscular, hairy, and tattooed as Cooper.

...Did they honestly just think that? Seriously? Well, it was better than saying it out loud. They’d have died of embarrassment at that!

They let out a sigh and mounted their horse- a lovely pinto called Lola- and set to work, trotting over to where Cooper was stretching atop a dark mustang- Thunder- shirt abandoned in the dirt. A trail of animals painted in bright dots covered his back and stomach, and they couldn’t help but take in the detail as they rode across the field. It must’ve taken ages to ink those, and they certainly didn’t like to think of that level of pain. But hey, Hunapo noted as they glanced down at their own, bare arms, they’d soon be getting their own, special ones. Using a method far more painful than modern techniques. But hey, if they were immersing themselves in a particular piece of tradition, they might as well do it right.

“Well aren’t you serious all of a sudden,” Hunapo commented as they drew nearer. Not once in this contest had they seen the guy without a smile.

“Well yeah,” Cooper raised an eyebrow, “I want to win, and you’re certainly not getting in my way, so shape up.”

Really now?

“Oh you won’t have to worry about me,” Hunapo smirked, “surely I’ve beaten you enough times for you to have realised that by now.”

And the grin was back, though a hint of resentment was there too. Well, if he wanted to beat them then he’d just have to try harder. “Yeah?” He gave a deep, hearty laugh, throwing an arm around Hunapo’s neck, pulling them closer and roughly ruffling their hair.

“Hey! Get your hairy Australian tits out of my face!” Hunapo punched him in the stomach and he grunted, letting go and flipping them off with a laugh. Hunapo returned the gesture as they straightened their hat.

“You could’ve taken an eye out!” cried Hunapo with a wave of the hand, and they nearly fell out of the saddle.

“Woah, careful there,” Cooper leaned over to catch them, a gesture Hunapo appreciated less than he’d have liked them to. Hunapo huffed and hunched their shoulders as Cooper set them straight, clutching the reins with a wounded pride.

“I’m fine,” they spat before letting out a sigh, “thanks though.”

“Hey no worries! So we gonna practice?”

“If you think you can keep up, Cooper.” Hunapo gave the horse a kick and dashed off to the far side of the field, where a pair of starting boxes stood either side of a chute, containing a single, rather grumpy-looking steer.

“No need to get all formal,” Cooper told them as he caught up, “surnames, really? Just call me Logie!”

“I’m not sure I want to,” even though Cooper had taken to only pronouncing the first four letters of Hunapo’s name within seconds of meeting them, they weren’t convinced the two were close enough for pet names. Hunapo certainly didn’t think of Cooper as a friend.

“Logan then?” Logan raised a bushy eyebrow, and Hunapo nodded.

“That’s fine, Logan.”

They pretended to ignore the slight blush on Logan’s cheeks as they gathered up the rope and tied the lasso; what the hell was he even blushing for? Didn’t matter.

“Ready?” they asked, and Logan nodded.

“I hope you’re a decent heeler,” they added as they kicked the chute open.

 

…

 

“Whoo! I won! All rise for the Australian national anthem!” Logan cheered and waved to an imaginary crowd, having just won a lap of the paddock after the two had wondered who was faster. That wondering had soon turned to bickering, and the pair had decided there was only one way to settle this: actually racing each other.

“I really don’t think there’s any need for-”

“Australians all let us rejoice, for we are young and free-”

“Oh for fuck’s- Seriously? You're taking patriotic to a whole new wanky level!”

“Sorry? What was that? I can’t hear you through that gay South African accent,” Logan nudged Hunapo in the ribs as he laughed loudly, and all they could do was roll their eyes.

“What the hell did you just call my accent?”

“Gay South African, that’s what it sounds like. I don’t know how you expected to beat me; at least I have a proper horse whilst you’re messing about on my little pony there.”

“You talk shit about Lola, then we’re gonna have an issue,” Hunapo pushed him lightly, “and I refuse to believe you are truly faster until we repeat the race several times and calculate an avera-”

“Huna’s such a whiny bitch in my ear that I can’t block out,” Logan sang, ignoring Huna’s rant and lightly shoving them away when they aimed a swipe at his face, “going on like: nag, nag, nag, nag everyday, like an alarm clock stuck on replay!”

“Oh you adore me really,” Hunapo laughed, “that’s probably why your hair has a pair of boners.”

“You’re giving my hand a pair of boners,” Logan retorted, sticking two fingers up at them.

“Oh really? And, by the way, I let you win. Guessed you’d be a sore loser; didn’t think you’d be an unbearable winner though.”

“Right, of course you let me win!” Logan winked.

The sun had long set by the time they’d finally decided to call it a day. It hadn’t been that bad- Hunapo admitted to themselves with some difficulty- getting along with Logan. Maybe they were friends now, who knew? He wasn’t the worst person in the world.

Hunapo took off their leather gloves as Logan led the steer back to its pen, and wiped their brow with the back of their hand. They were exhausted, Lola was exhausted, and though he wouldn’t admit it, Logan looked pretty damn exhausted too.

Well, at least they both had a nice dinner and relaxing shower to look forward to, hopefully not together though. There was only so much of Logan Apari Cooper a person could take at one time.

“So what do you think of our chances?” they asked as he drew nearer, though it really didn’t need to be said. They were good. Really good. They understood each other and worked as one, fluid being, timing everything just perfectly. Yes, it hadn’t been easy and the first few times had ended up in squabbles, but soon enough they knew how the other worked and with a day of practice they were an unstoppable team. A few days of practice, and they could just win it.

“It’s in the bag!” cried Logan as he cantered back, drawing up alongside Hunapo, “well, if nothing goes wrong.”

“I fail to see how it could,” Hunapo replied, “as long as we work together.”

“I think we can manage,” Logan ever so lightly brushed Hunapo’s chin with his knuckles, “you’re alright, I guess.”

“You too,” Hunapo laughed, “for an Australian, I mean.”

A bark of a laugh and a light shove was what they got in reply.

“You cunt,” he managed to spit out through his laughter.

“Same to you,” Hunapo leaned over to lightly punch him. “Come on, I’m hungry and have been sitting in this saddle far too long.”

“Yeah, let’s get to the stables before we all collapse;” Logan didn’t look like he had any intention of moving though, nervously looking down at his saddle horn. He’d finally put his shirt back on, but hadn’t bothered to button it up and the thing was soaking. His hair fell flat, poking out from under his hat and into his face, though he didn’t seem to notice, and the plaster on his nose was peeling slightly.

“What's wrong now?” Hunapo raised an eyebrow, “sit on your nutsack again? I thought you knew how to ride a horse.”

“I do, I…” Logan looked up, blushing once more. “Look, I…”

“Yes?”

Logan screwed up his face, before leaning over and planting the smallest of kisses on Hunapo’s lips.

The kiwi drew back even as Logan was pulling away.

“Disgusting,” they commented, “you are aware that I’m not a girl?”

Logan appeared to be panicking now. “I know! I know what you are but… I… look, don’t think too much into it. I just think you’re cute and wanted to try something.”

“I am not cute!” Hunapo huffed, pulling a face that they thought was intimidating, but simply reinforced Logan’s belief that they were- indeed- rather adorable.

“That’s not really something you can decide,” Logan laughed, “I think you’re pretty damn cute. Sorry you found it disgusting though.”

“Well, I’m not used to being kissed by Aussies, that’s all,” Hunapo replied, “and sweaty ones at that.”

“You mean it’s not because I’m a bloke!?” Logan exclaimed, “also, fuck you.”

Hunapo could only laugh.

“Look, forget I did it; let’s just get some rest.” And with that, he sped off.

 

...

 

Two years ago

 

...

 

Oscar was certainly a lot less confident than his brother. And thankfully kept his lips and hands to himself.

He trembled and gulped from the box, holding a rope with clammy hands barely big enough for his leather gloves. He’d never roped a live steer before. Dummies? Yes. Calves? Eventually, but he could. An actual steer was a whole different matter though.

“You can do it,” Hunapo assured him, “you have a good aim.”

“And everything else?” the boy shot back.

“Well that could do with some work. But that’s why I’m here.” They rested a hand on his shoulder. “At this point, I’m not gonna ask you to focus on making legal moves or not breaking a barrier or anything fancy, I just want you to rope the steer, and we’ll work our way up from there.”

Oscar gave a shaky nod, tying the knot correctly, though he didn’t look any more happy about it.

“Oh, if you manage to rope it,” added Hunapo slyly, “I’ll ask my mum to make that bread and butter pudding you like.”

Well that perked him up, at least. Oscar gave a small smile as he made his way to the box, Charlie perched on top of the handmade chute Hunapo’s parents built.

The Cooper children had certainly settled in well here, and Hunapo’s parents were like the grandparents they never had: warm, funny and kind. They made dinners from scratch, helped with training and told funny stories from when they were young, and Mr Davies especially loved telling Oscar and Charlie about his younger days as a cowboy shooter, a profession Hunapo themselves carried on when not competing in rodeo. Hunapo also had two sisters who visited with their children from time to time. It was what Oscar and Charlie needed: love and affection and a sense of normality. They were supporting the children and Hunapo through their bereavement, and here Oscar felt he could finally be at peace. Even school wasn't as bad as he'd thought it would be, though he'd yet to make too many friends.

Their farm was out of the way too, on the South Island a few miles from the west coast, and every morning Oscar would go jogging, either on the beach or along a cliff, taking in the view. He took a packed breakfast with him, and would eat it in a nice secluded spot whilst staring out to sea, thinking of the country he grew up in and had left behind, for now. He would come back to Australia eventually, to compete for the title that should’ve been his brother’s, but right now he was happy here, or as happy as he allowed himself to be.

“You ready?” Hunapo asked, and Oscar gave a curt nod. Charlie opened the chute and a rather large steer burst out, Oscar following shakily after. He managed to get the horse to a canter without falling off, though he fumbled with his rope and wobbled as he went. It was a wonder he didn’t miss, but his sure aim landed a legal catch: over one horn and the thing’s head.

But even as Oscar opened his mouth to cheer, the steer lurched to the side and he was pulled off his saddle, landing on the ground painfully and still clutching the rope as it dragged him across the field. The last thing on his mind now cheering, he used his mouth to let out an unholy screech, which- almost- managed to drown out Charlie’s roaring laughter and Hunapo’s cry of horror. Through the blank haze of panic clouding his mind, Oscar managed to hold on to one thought: don’t let go of the rope. Even though the rope burned his skin, and Hunapo shouted at him to let go, he couldn’t let go. He was too scared to.

He barely saw Hunapo gallop past him, throwing themselves from their horse and grabbing the steer by the horns. It came to a stop then, and Oscar finally let go of the rope, pulling himself onto his elbows in time to see Hunapo bring the steer to the ground with a twist of its neck. Charlie’s menacing cackle rang in his ears.

“You couldn’t hit a tiled floor with a bellyful of puke!”

“Shut up, Charlotte,” he spat, pulling a blade of grass out of his mouth.

“Charlie, go inside and do your homework,” Hunapo called to her, and Charlie let out a ‘hmph’ as she climbed down from the fence and began making her way to the little cottage down the path. Oscar spat dirt and looked up miserably.

“Are you okay?” Hunapo asked as they knelt down, wiping mud off Oscar’s nose before taking his hand and helping him up.

“I think so,” Oscar winced, “a few bruises… okay, maybe a lot of bruises.”

“Nothing serious?”

“Probably not,” Oscar smiled, “well, I might need to work on my strength, but my aim was spot on.”

“Indeed,” Hunapo looked him up and down, “maybe we shouldn’t have focused on only your throw. I want you to go and do some push ups, and don’t come back until you have biceps.” They lightly pinched Oscar’s arm, but he didn’t smile. Hunapo sighed.

“You don’t have to do anything tonight. Come inside and relax until dinner. Maybe even play your ukulele for me. You roped the steer, so you’ll get dessert!”

Oscar gave a small smile, scratching his upturned nose. “Well, I guess we _should_ go inside then; it’s not like we’ll have many opportunities to pig out on fatty foods again.”

“Indeed you won’t,” Hunapo poked Oscar’s stomach as the two began to clear up their equipment. “Tomorrow we really have to start knuckling down and building up some muscle.”

Oscar laughed as he flexed his rather feeble biceps; “cannot wait!”

 

...

 

And here they were again, with another new partner. Another new set of mannerisms and quirks to learn, and another unique way of competing in this event. And yet another irritatingly short time to learn all this in.

Samantha Madison Jones wasn’t like Logan or Oscar, though sometimes she reminded Hunapo of the former with her liveliness and humour. And her laugh. But from what they’d heard, Samantha was like Alfred, and Alfred was like Logan so it wasn’t a surprise, really. It wasn’t often Hunapo got to work with someone their own size, being so small, but it seemed they were both stronger than they looked, thankfully.

New Zealand and the USA were drawn together yesterday morning, and since then they’d be working hard to get ready for the team roping tomorrow, an event in which they’d be partnered, filling out both positions four times each. Sam was a better header, Hunapo quickly realised, and luckily they were a better healer. Both were fairly good at both positions, so they weren’t at too much of a disadvantage.

And they were getting better!

Hunapo liked Samantha, she was honest and down to earth, and just a fun person to be around. Granted, her humour was a little banal, but they’d long accepted their own was too dark for most people, and Logan’s had just been plain brutal; probably why they went so well together.

“So what got you into the whole rodeo thing then?” asked Samantha, straightening her hat before collecting her rope in large loops, curly hair bouncing with the movement of her horse. Hunapo shrugged.

“Dad liked it, and both my parents love sport so it made sense I’d grow up with an interest. I used to compete in the cowboy shooting before all this, and started rodeo to earn more money.” They twisted a section of their rope and sighed. “I love both, but haven’t been able to do any shooting for a while.”

“How come?” Sam raised an eyebrow.

“The kids… they don’t like guns. I have one and it scares them so I have to keep it locked up and can’t practice. I can understand why though…” Hunapo stopped, unwilling to share more; it wasn’t their secret to tell.

“I won’t ask.”

“Thanks,” Hunapo looked up and smiled, “and what about you?”

“My cousins dragged me into it, to be honest,” Samantha laughed, “I liked showjumping as a girl and they got me into barrel racing and pole bending, and from there I started competing in the other events.”

“Huh,” Hunapo nodded, “not your first choice either then?”

“Nope! But the right choice in the end.”

“Oh of course. Where would we be without it? Really?” Hunapo smiled as they tightened their grip on the reigns. “Wanna go again? I think we’re getting the hang of it.”

“Bring it on!”

 

…

 

Matthew and Michael stood awkwardly together at the edge of the paddock, Matt leaning against the fence and refusing to look at his younger brother, crouched in the dirt and fussing over his dog. The pure, knife-sharp tension in the air was almost unbearable, as Matthew pondered the best way to start a conversation and Michael did everything he could to non-verbally tell his brother he didn’t want to talk.

But what could Matthew say? He knew the kid wouldn’t take kindly to any more suggestions that he should quit whilst all the bones in his body were intact and he didn’t really want to praise him again. It killed him that his brother was actually good at this; maybe if he wasn’t, he would’ve given it up by now.

On the other hand, yes, he didn’t like the idea of his sixteen year old brother continuing to compete in this sport and, yes, the entire tournament had been agony for him so far, but was it really his place to say anything? Oh yes, he could- and would- give his opinion but he’d long accepted he couldn’t force Michael to do- or stop doing- anything. Not only was the boy far too stubborn for that- and had a habit of only paying attention to Alfred’s advice- but he also wasn’t Matthew’s responsibility. Not any more, at least. After their final, phenomenal, argument on the subject, Matthew had cut all ties with Michael, and hadn’t been in his life for over three years, so how could he get him to listen? He wasn’t Mike’s guardian, no matter how much he feared for his safety.

The last three years had been hell for him, the only way of Matthew knowing if his brother was alive being the infrequent calls from Samantha and their aunt. He wondered if he should’ve contacted Michael himself. Well of course he should’ve! Then he could’ve seen his brother grow up- almost into a young man now, and maybe if they communicated he could’ve convinced him to give rodeo up. Well, it was certainly a better method than attempting to forbid him from competing and end up fighting.

And he was supposed to be the rational one of the three...

And even if Michael continued this blasted competition, he could still spend time with his baby brother. He loved Michael so much and wanted him safe and happy. He didn't want anything bad to happen to him. Ever.

He’d hated his brother at first.

He’d hated the way his mother’s tummy grew and grew and how that lump was the reason she and dad were fighting. That lump was the reason dad made him move to Canada, and the reason he didn’t see Alfred for nine years. And every day of those nine years he hated the baby that had torn his family apart. If their mom hadn’t had that baby, then dad wouldn’t have hated her! And no matter how much he looked forward to being reunited with his twin someday, he didn’t want to see the new kid. He didn’t want anything to do with it and would rather Alfred came to him so he wouldn’t have to go home to the memories and their mother and… that evil spawn.

But when he finally saw that awkward little child that was his brother, he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t be hostile to Michael no matter how hard he tried! The boy was adorable and looked up to him almost as much as he looked up to Alfred. He would see the kid staring at him from doorways and across the room, a mixture of awe and fear on his face. He’d wanted Matt to like him, and was terrified of being rejected by him. He understood fully why Matthew might, understood their whole situation, and Matthew wasn’t spiteful at heart. He didn’t want this kid to think of himself like that. He spent nine years thinking of Michael as a life-ruining burden, but the idea of a child thinking that about himself was too much to handle.

Matthew had wanted to make up the lost time with both his brothers, but just three years later he was alone again.

Still, he had a chance here. He’d never see Alfred again but Michael was still here! Right next to him, alive and one slightly battered piece. They could reconcile and make up for those lost years!

If Michael was willing to make up, that is.

Samantha had given him this opportunity, and he for one was determined to make the most of it.

“Well,” he began, glancing down at his brother as Mike glared at the floor, a spray bottle in his hand whilst Daisy looked at her owner innocently; “you two have certainly grown these past few years.”

“Yeah. Shame you weren’t around to see it.”

Matthew scowled. The little ba- no, Michael hated being called that. “So, what’s with the water bottle? Haven’t trained Daisy yet?”

“Oh I have, except this thing she does where she chews the tassels on my chaps.”

“Why not just take them off?”

“I won’t look as cool,” Michael replied and Matthew couldn’t help smiling at that. So much like Alfred…

“You have to be cool in the first place for that to work.”

“Fuck off!” Michael laughed, and even Daisy joined in with her bark. Or at least, Matthew assumed it was a bark.

“You never swore like that at Alfred,” Matthew commented, slightly stung. Then again, from what he’d seen and from what Samantha told him, the kid had made foul language something of a habit. Yes, Matthew himself swore from time to time but Michael took it too far.

“What? When I was a kid? You two would never let me, fuck’s sake.”

Matthew’s eyebrows shot up, and Mike winced.

“I don’t even realise I’m doing it any more.”

Matthew nodded, wondering what to say when they were interrupted by fast-paced footsteps, and the pair looked up to find Arthur jogging towards them, a small smile on his lips and sunburn across his cheeks.

“Oh, hey Arthur,” Matthew began as he dashed over.

“Afternoon,” he puffed, “been busy?”

“I haven’t, but those two haven’t stopped all day,” Matthew nodded at Hunapo and Samantha, who had just succeeded in roping the steer yet another time. The pair cheered and high-fived as they drew nearer.

“Who’s that?” Arthur asked, eyeing Hunapo suspiciously.

“Their partner? For the team roping?” Matthew followed his gaze, “I mentioned Haka Huna to you before, didn’t I?”

“Oh, the kiwi?” He didn’t seem to be paying too much attention, watching the two as they talked and laughed. “They seem close.”

“They are. I like Huna too. We’ve met a few times before and they’re hard to dislike, really.”

“Are they now?” Arthur glared at the cigarette he was lighting, though his scowl worsened when he was sprayed with a drizzle of water.

“Bad! No! Smelly!” Mike growled, “don’t go clogging up my air.”

“Little bollocks,” Arthur growled back, dropping the cigarette as Matthew laughed.

“Don’t be smoking those things around me and Daisy,” Mike growled, still crouched on the ground and rubbing Daisy’s back protectively.

“If I want to smoke I bloody well will,” Arthur exclaimed, taking another from its packet, “a kid like you can’t stop me.”

Michael just glared up at him, spray bottle in his hand and silently daring him to light that cigarette. Arthur sighed and placed the thing back in its packet.

“Fine, I’ll just have a smoke after I’m done riding your cousin tonight,” he retorted instead, and was met with a duo of disgusted cries.

“Don’t say that about my cousin!” yelped Mike, whilst Matthew nodded, looking a little green.

“Too far, Kirkland.”

“What? I’m soaked now because of that little tosser!” Arthur growled, “Mike, I like you and all, kid, but you’re a shit at times.”

“Same to you!” Well, at least he was laughing now.

Arthur leaned against the fence, once more glancing over at Hunapo and Samantha, still dashing about on horseback, calling to each other and laughing. He let out a sigh, glaring at them through a cloud of bitterness, something Matthew was quick to pick up on.

“Huna lost their fiance two years ago,” he told Arthur, “and I don’t think they’ve moved on at all since. They look happy, but I’m not sure they are, deep down. They hurt but won’t tell anyone. Gotta be strong for their little ones, I guess.”

“Oh, I had no idea…”

“You have nothing to fear from them, where Sam is concerned. Huna goes for guys anyway, and even if they were interested, Sam wouldn’t do that to you. I know her. _You_ know her.”

“I know, I know. I trust her with all my heart, but,” Arthur screwed up his face.

“But?”

“It’s just being here… argh never mind!”

Mike busied himself with trying to prize Daisy’s jaw off the rim of his chaps as Matthew rested a hand on Arthur’s arm.

“Look, what is it?” he asked, and Arthur groaned.

“Everyone here seems better than me,” the man admitted, “I can’t compete with these guys! I’m not tough and I can’t lift weights or do all these fancy events! I competed in showjumping as a sprog but that isn’t the same.” He shook his head; “look, forget I said anything. I’m being bitter, I know.”

“Um, Arthur, I don’t know how to tell you this, but Sam likes you because you’re a weird bastard who makes her laugh; you don’t have to be all tough for her. She's tough enough for the both of you, you just focus on that mind of yours that she loves.”

Arthur didn’t speak for a long moment, brows knotted together. “I make her laugh?” he asked eventually.

“Well, not at first,” Matt admitted, “Sam was always complaining your jokes went over her head. I guess she got used to your fucked up sense of humour.”

“It’s not that bad,” mumbled Arthur.

“No, it’s not _Natalya_ , but it’s still kinda dark and cynical.”

“Still, she likes my jokes?”

“She likes your everything,” Matthew told him, “that’s why she waits all this time for you to come back.”

Arthur couldn’t find a reply to that.

“Hey honey!” cried Samantha, dismounting and bounding over, “when did you get here?” she stood on the lower rungs of the fence in order to give him a kiss on the cheek.

“Oh, just now,” Arthur smiled, the smallest of blushes on his face.

“What did you think of our practice?” she asked, beaming.

“Proper job. Looked pretty good from where I was standing.”

“So where did you disappear off to, hmm?” Sam wondered, raising an eyebrow.

“Well I went off to find a pub-”

“And you couldn’t find one?” offered Hunapo.

“Oh I did, but this guy dropped his pint and I was the only one who cheered, so I thought it was time to get out of there.”

Everyone stared at Arthur in silent confusion, except Hunapo, who burst out laughing.

“I’d have cheered too,” they assured him; “I should go with you next time.”

“Sounds fun, if you can find the time,” the pair shook hands, though Matthew noted with some amusement that Samantha was watching them closely, with a similar expression to Arthur when he’d been touched by jealousy. They were a pair of idiots, the man decided.

“So you’re Haka Huna then?” Arthur asked, “nice to meet you at last; I hear you and your son are competing.”

“Son?” Hunapo raised an eyebrow, “I’m twenty five.”

Arthur grimaced. “Oh, I thought-”

“He’s adopted,” Hunapo added, “well, more or less.”

“What the hell happened to his parents anyway?” asked Mike before he could stop himself.

“That’s not my secret to give,” Hunapo replied, gentle but firm.

“Fine, didn’t really care anyway.”

“Well you seem to care too damn much,” Matthew commented, “it’s distracting you. Bloody hell I worry enough without you clouding your brain with this petty rivalry.”

“It’s not petty!” Michael cried, “he’s one point ahead of me!”

“Good old Oscar,” Hunapo gave a brief grin, before a glare from Michael sent it falling again. “Well, a bit of healthy competition never hurt anyone!” they added, “may the best man win is what I say!”

 

…

 

“Champions!” cried Hunapo, giving Samantha a double high-five outside the arena. They did it! First place in the team roping!

They couldn’t help it, Hunapo pulled Sam into a crushing hug and she laughed, the rosettes pinned to their shirts digging into their skin painfully but they didn’t care. They won! The tiny dream team pulled through and won the best money and the six points!

It had been fun, Huna realised, more fun than they’d had in a long while, working with Sam time after time, the lift in their heart as they looked at the time on the screen whilst the crowd roared. That’s what it was meant to feel like! How it used to feel when it was them and Logan competing together.

They almost didn’t want it to end.

The pair pulled apart, turning to the various kids in their care. Michael stood apart from the Cooper siblings, boredly staring down at Daisy whilst Matt leaned against the arena entrance, watching them all silently.

“Congrats, Huna!” called Charlie, darting over and nearly knocking them over with a hug of her own.

“Hey thanks little lady,” Huna laughed, ruffling her hair.

“It’s up to you now Mike!” Sam called, “think you and your partner can match up to our example?”

Michael shrugged. “Depends who they are.”

“I pity the poor bastard,” Oscar muttered to himself as he walked back towards the entrance, and he caught Matthew glaring at him for that.

“Sorry,” he muttered as he wandered past, making his way to the box where the other competitors were gathered, talking amongst themselves as everything was tidied away and the judges prepared to make the draw. He glanced up at the screen, blank for now, though it would soon be telling him who he’d be participating in the next event with.

He looked around, wondering which of these teens it would be. New Zealand’s competitor- a tiny girl with a mess of curly hair- grinned back at him before continuing her conversation with the boy representing Colombia. At some point, Michael joined them whilst their families chose seats for themselves, waiting around for them.

The under-18s team roping wasn’t for a couple of days, and Oscar wondered if that would give him enough time to practice and get to know them. It had been fine at national level, and he’d gotten along with his partner, enough that he almost felt guilty about beating them overall. The crowd here seemed nice enough anyway, if the scattered but friendly conversations he’d had with them were anything to go by.

“Okay, contestants,” began one of the judges from their box, “we’re ready to start the draw, if you’d like to turn your attention to the screen in front of you.”

And the screen used to announce the times lit up, but instead of numbers, a list of countries, two-by-two, were presented:

 

_Brazil-Argentina_

_New Zealand-Canada_

_Colombia-Philippines_

_Venezuela-México_

 

And last, but most certainly not least, were the final two countries:

 

_USA-Australia_

 

The two boys exchanged disgusted glances, opening their mouths at the same time.

“You have got to be kidding me!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...Yeah, I’m gonna guess you were all expecting Hutt and Molly to be drawn as partners, I’m that bloody predictable. Wasn't really playing it to be a surprise [I swear] because, let's face it, I have far more horrible surprises where this fic is concerned.  
>  Still, I wonder how their next event will go for these two. Well, I know how it’ll go but I’m wondering what you think might happen! As always, I'm curious to hear your guesses!  
> I'm gonna say it now that you probably choose your team roping partner and travel around together to compete in different rodeos, but this is how I needed to set it out for the sake of the plot. Plus, it's all fictional.  
> Eh the rules of team roping with be explained in more detail next chapter.  
> Also, I wrote a while back that I headcanon that Hutt can play the ukulele, I also think Zea would hate being called cute because they feel they're not being taken seriously... yet Aus still thinks they are.


	9. Heeler

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh Jesus tapdancing Christ, sorry this is late! Stuff happened that you probably know about from other fics’ author’s notes and are most likely tired of hearing about, so I’ll just jump in and say I’m not abandoning this fic, and probably never will! I love it too much, have put too much research into to just abandon and, well, I need to get to the ending and see how all you lovely people react to it, huehuehue. I should probably hurry up though; there’s eight pages of notes/plan to get through! Still, here’s another nice long chapter to make up for everything!  
> And HuttMol UST is the greatest thing on the planet for me to write. And since they’re now together in Just Kids, this is the only place I can write UST.  
> And boy is there unresolved sexual tension in this chapter!  
> I’m so sorry to people who are emotionally attached to these characters.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Oscar repeated, glaring at the boy on horseback next to him. Michael scowled.

“Hey I ain’t any happier about it than you are!” He spat, and the pair groaned to themselves.

There was silence in the paddock as the two glared at each other; horrible, tense silence that even made their horses uneasy, the beasts pawing at the dust on the ground and snorting nervously. At the edge, sat on the fence, Hunapo and Charlie exchanged exasperated glances, barely within earshot of the boys’ hissing.

“I guess we have no choice, really,” Oscar finally relented, and Michael gave a curt nod in agreement.

“Right, teamwork. Okay then. So, let’s see how good you are,” he began.

“Oh you know that already,” Oscar winked and with that Mike’s mood plummeted further. One point between them. One tiny point had never felt so huge in his life. No one else would’ve cared. Not Sam. Not Matt. Not even Alfred would’ve let one point bother him, and he was obnoxiously competitive.

Then again, Oscar Cooper seemed to be some fresh new breed of fucking dickhead. If he could get through the day without choking Oscar with his own scarf, it would be a freaking miracle!

“Oh, of course,” he growled, “but there’s no need to be so smug. It’s all still to play for and I have a good chance of catching up, motherfucker.”

“You’re certainly making me worried,” Oscar admitted; “you’re tough competition, Mike Jones.”

“I damn well hope I am!” Mike laughed, “but right now we’re not out to kick each other’s asses into the dirt; we gotta work together to kick everyone else’s asses.”

“You think we can do it?”

Mike shrugged. “We’re alright. We got our strengths, and we're top of the leaderboard.” He laughed. “Our teamwork might need some team-working though.”

Oscar nodded. “No kidding. So how about I start off heading, and you be the heeler?”

“I wanna be the header first!”

“Alright, fine,” Oscar rolled his eyes, “you can be header. You’ll have to be both eventually though.”

Mike huffed, puffing out his chest. “I know, I know, but I don’t want you bossing me around all the time!” And with that, he tapped his horse’s side with the heel of his boot, and the thing began trotting over to the pen. The steer was already waiting for them, looking as cheesed-off as he was.

“I don’t boss anyone around,” Oscar protested, “just because you’re sour and insecure doesn’t mean you can take it out on me.”

“What the hell did you just call me?” Mike twisted around in his saddle, mouth curled into a snarl.

“You heard me,” came Oscar’s monotonous reply.

“Yeah?” Mike stuck out his chin, “keep talking shit about me, see where it gets ya.”

Oscar simply raised one of his hedge-like eyebrows. “You think a child like you can intimidate me?”

“I’m not a child!” Mike spat, “seriously, one year age difference!”

“It’s always one too few with you,” commented Oscar smugly.

Mike narrowed his eyes, drawing up alongside him. “You know what, I’m gonna rip out your liver through your pisshole and use it as a buttplug,” he hissed in the other’s face.

Oscar blinked, leaning back and almost falling off his horse before scowling. “Oh you really are a detestable, unbearable prick, aren’t you?”

“Behave,” Hunapo warned, leaning against the fence and glaring at the two. This was certainly going to be one long day for them, they could tell that much, and they honestly didn't know if they had the willpower in them. “You’re supposed to be a team.”

“We are behaving,” Oscar replied innocently, squirming under their glare. “We’ll try harder, okay?”

“You’d better.”

Oscar turned to his partner, begrudgingly extending a hand. “Fresh start?” he tried.

Mike nodded. “How many of these will we Goddamn need?” he asked with some amusement.

“No more, I hope.” Oscar began rolling up his sleeves and putting on his thick gloves, “so, I’m heeling then?”

“Yeah,” answered Mike distractedly, glancing down at that mark from the steer’s horns. It was more or less healed by now, but it probably wouldn’t disappear completely, and he had to wonder if it would be an impediment for Oscar. The possibility certainly worried Mike, because he didn’t want anything to jeopardise their chance of winning, and, as much as he detested the guy, he didn’t want to see Oscar injured again.

And it appeared Oscar had noticed his staring.

“Do you not find my battle scars intimidating?” he drawled, and Mike scoffed. Talk about hamming things up.

”You literally got that from an animal I eat in a burger for breakfast.”

“Well maybe if you didn’t eat so many burgers, you’d actually be winning now,” Oscar shot back, and Mike nearly fell off his horse.

“Oy, I said behave you two,” Hunapo raised their voice, whilst Charlie lost all interest, busying herself with scratching Daisy’s head.

“What’s a buttplug?” she asked Hunapo absentmindedly, who let out a shriek.

“Nothing you need to know about!” they cried, “just ignore those silly kids!”

“But what is-”

“Hey why not take Daisy and go for a walk?” suggested Hunapo, a little too quickly. “You might find something to do that’s more interesting than listening to their arguing.” They were gonna kill 'em. They were actually gonna beat Oscar and Michael to death for that!

“To be honest, homework would be more interesting than Oscar and Mike’s arguing,” Charlie sighed, pulling herself and and taking Daisy’s lead. “Come find me if they get on your nerves too much.”

Hunapo grimaced. “I’m scared to leave them to their own devices.”

“I can see why,” and with that, Charlie wandered off with Mike’s dog, Daisy’s owner oblivious to her disappearance.

Mike was busying himself with preparing his soft, heading rope, already in the box as Oscar joined him the other side of the chute, the stiffer, heeling rope proving more of a challenge to gather up.

“Hey, Huna,” he called, “mind giving us a hand with the steer?”

“Oh, sure, but please try to roll back the language.” They vaulted over the fence and bounded over to the chute, climbing onto the thing and grabbing the lever.

“What fucking language?” scoffed Mike before pulling a face. “Oh, right. Shit sorry! I mean… argh fuck…”

Hunapo burst out laughing. “You know, just then you reminded me of someone.”

“Someone cool?” Mike asked hopefully, fully aware of how lame that probably sounded.

“He thought he was,” the other replied, almost wistful.

“Still,” began Oscar with a cough, “we’re not here to reminisce.”

“True,” Huna hummed, “so, you boys ready?”

Mike gave a short nod. “Ready when you are, Aussie Ozzie.”

“Ready as I’ll ever be.”

“Then go get ‘em,” Huna pulled the lever and the steer burst out, quickly followed by Mike, and within seconds, he’d looped the rope over the thing’s horns: perfect legal move!

As Oscar followed, preparing to rope the steer’s back legs, Mike dallied the rope, but just wasn’t quite fast enough to pull the thing to the side. As such, Oscar did not have a clear shot.

“What the hell?” he cried as he only succeeded in roping one leg.

“Oh shit, sorry,” Mike grimaced, “little rusty.”

“Just try to be a bit faster next time.”

“I got it!” Mike rolled his eyes as he jumped from his horse to free the steer, Oscar following.

Five minutes of untangling ropes and trying to stuff an angry steer back into a tiny chute later, and the pair were ready to try again. Mike called for a steer, and Huna could only watch as, once again, they failed to rope successfully, this time the both of them landing illegal catches.

“Oh God they’re not compatible,” Huna despaired to themselves, burying their face in their hands as the two boys lapsed into petty arguing once more.

"Could you try not to be a fucking idiot next time?" Mike threw his hands in the air, not bothering to hide his exasperation.

“Me? What’s wrong with _you_?” cried Oscar, “I thought you were good at this, you actual pile of cunt debris!”

The three cowboys gasped as Oscar covered his mouth and Mike had to grip the saddle to stop himself falling out of it once more.

“Oscar Orad Cooper!” exclaimed Hunapo.

“Woah, woah,” he spluttered, “firstly, when did you start swearing? Secondly, don’t use that word it’s offensive!”

Oscar’s apology died on his lips, and he stared at Mike like he’d lost his mind. “Really?” he yelped, “that’s where you draw the line? Cunt?”

“Argh, yes that one! It’s so mean!” Mike wrinkled his nose.

“You two need to stop this,” Hunapo scolded, climbing down from the chute, “you’re supposed to be working together, not against each other. Just stop the insults and threats and try to get along, please?”

Before Mike and Oscar could protest the notion of having to get along, the three were joined by a rather cheery Samantha, climbing onto a nearby stretch of fence and taking a look at their progress.

“Howdy people,” she chirped, “how’s it goin’?”

“I actually want to kill them,” Hunapo hissed, pulling at their hair as they stormed over, “they’re pissing me off so much.”

“You know I can hear you?” Oscar drawled as he dismounted to finally untie the steer.

“They have a point though,” Mike admitted. They still didn’t see each other as partners, only rivals, and that affected how they worked together. What they needed was to strike up a friendship, get to know each other, learn to trust each other, then they could work more in sync. There was also the issue of time: like dance partners, the longer they practiced together, the more they would get it.

He just hoped today and tomorrow would be enough time to understand Cooper.

“Fresh start?” he tried weakly, extending a hand which Oscar took with a laugh.

“We’ll get there eventually,” he replied.

“Sounds like you need a break,” Samantha told Hunapo, who nodded miserably. “Well that settles it! Boys, you’ll have to manage on your own for a bit whilst we get something to eat,” she called over to Mike and Oscar.

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Oscar piped up.

Samantha shrugged. “Well, that’s for you to decide. I’m sure Huna would appreciate it if they came back to find you getting along.”

“I would,” Hunapo admitted.

“Fuck’s sake we’ll try!” Mike rolled his eyes, “can’t be that hard!”

Samantha wrinkled her nose; “you’d think.”

After the two adults had wandered off, Mike let out a groan. “What do they take us for, really?”

“Well,” Oscar piped up, “based on the evidence…”

“Alright, alright,” Mike waved a hand in the other’s face. “I don’t think we should try again just yet. Let’s calm down first.”

Oscar nodded, letting out a long sigh. “Indeed, don’t want Hunapo to burst a blood vessel worrying.”

“I think Matt’s already burst several,” Mike joked, “but he’s weird like that.”

“He certainly comes across as a worrier.” Oscar knelt down to pat the steer’s head, and the thing seemed to take to him.

“He should be worrying about his goddamn diet,” Mike muttered, “seriously, he thinks I avoid him in the mornings cause I hate listening to what he has to say, but truth is I can’t stand watching him pile so much junk on his plate.” He rolled his eyes; “like damn I know it’s a buffet, but bacon, eggs, pancakes and porridge? Calm the fuck down!”

“Charlie’s exactly the same!” cried Oscar, “always eating and here I am trying to be an athlete! I don't know where she puts it all.”

“I feel you man,” Mike patted Oscar’s shoulder, giving a hearty laugh. “What is it about buffet food anyway?”

“No idea. I tend to avoid it anyway; don’t know who’s been breathing or sneezing on it.”

Mike pulled a face. “Eww, you might have a point there.”

“Yeah,” Oscar stood up straight, leading the steer to the chute once more. “So how come you’re so… aminant on winning this thing?”

Michael blinked. “You mean the event?”

“Just the rodeo in general.”

He thought for a moment, rubbing his chin. “It’s a goddamn competitive sport, why else?”

Oscar smirked, “that’s not all though, is it?”

Michael scowled and spat on the ground. “Alright, I want to make a name for myself, you got that? Good.”

“Okay then,” Oscar gave a snort, “whatever you say mate.”

“And I don’t have anything else to do,” admitted Mike, with some difficulty. “I mean, if I could draw or sing or rob banks, I’d do that, but nah I just do weird things to livestock.”

“Woah there boy,” Oscar raised both his eyebrows and hands, “you’re starting to sound a bit like Huna’s family there.”

“They know you make that sort of joke about their family?”

“No and they’d kill me if they did.”

“So what about you, pretty boy? What got you into the big, scary world of rodeo?” Mike straightened his hat, “I know you said family issues, but that doesn’t tell me a whole lot.”

“That’s all I’m telling you though, nosy boy,” Oscar chided, “I assume someone has informed you of… my brother and his, well, demise.”

“Bits and bobs, yes. You told me he was dead, and mentioned drugs... Matt told me the basics, but I'd rather hear it from you, if you're cool with that.”

“I'm afraid that’s all I’m saying on the matter.” And with that, Oscar mounted his horse once more and made his way towards the box. “Hey, I think we’re ready to try again.”

“...Didn’t want to know anyway,” Mike mumbled childishly as he climbed back into his saddle.

 

…

 

“Better, definitely better,” Oscar commented as the pair both landed legal throws- the first time they’d both succeeded at this.

“Whoo!” Mike punched the air, grinning like a madman, “we got this!”

Well, they didn’t really just yet, but it was progress, and they could actually get along once they let go of the rivalry. It hadn’t been easy, Michael would admit that much. He still wasn’t that fond of the other, but Oscar wasn’t so bad, deep down. He wasn’t sure they were ready to compete just yet, but with a bit more practice...

“Eh, wouldn’t go that far, but we’ve certainly earned our lunch, huh?”

Michael nodded, “fuck I’m hungry.”

“Yeah, swearing and shouting probably took a lot out of us,” Oscar glanced over apologetically. “Look, I never got round to saying, but please accept my most sincerest apologies in regards to my… calling you a…”

“C-word debris?” Mike finished, and Oscar nodded. “Hey it’s cool! Just wouldn’t expect that sorta thing from you. What even is c-word debris?”

“I don’t want to know,” Oscar laughed, “come on, let’s get things tidied away, the animals happy, and ourselves fed.”

 

…

 

“So yeah, it’s the rhythm that’s the main thing,” Michael was telling the other as the duo walked through the fair. “We just gotta pick up on how the other works and sorta… sync.”

“Do you think getting closer will help?”

Mike’s eyebrows shot up. “Depends what you mean by that.”

“Well you're the one calling me 'pretty'. But what I meant was, if we knew something personal about the other, we could trust each other more and sync up.” Oscar rubbed his chin. “I think I may have an idea.”

“Is that idea telling each other our secrets?” Mike smirked, “yeah, no.”

“Well, it would be a case of mutually kept secrets, thus we would be sure to never gossip,” Oscar explained, “and it doesn’t have to be anything big.”

“I’m not sure, but what the hell,” Mike shrugged, “if it’s only small things.”

“But back at the paddock, you know, not here.” Oscar looked around at the people milling past, and caught sight of his sister.

“Oh, Charlie,” he called.

“Daisy!” Mike called, bounding over. The puppy in question perked up and barrelled towards her owner, dragging poor, tiny Charlie behind her.

“Aww, how have you been girl?” Mike cooed as Daisy slobbered over his face and Oscar was left to pick up a rather battered Charlotte.

“I forget how powerful she is,” the girl wheezed.

“So where did you get off to?” he asked.

Charlie dusted down her shorts and shrugged. “Here and there. Looked at some animals. Watching the Mutton Busting now.”

“Oh?” Oscar glanced over her shoulder at the queue of children waiting along the edge of a small paddock, containing a single sheep a child was attempting to climb on. Hunapo and Samantha were there too, waving lazily at the pair.

“You friends now?” called Sam, and Mike blushed before replying.

“Yeah, sure, I guess.”

“I’m next!” Charlie tugged at Oscar’s scarf, “wanna watch me?”

“Well, I’m kind of busy…”

“Oh please!” Charlie puffed out her cheeks, “I watch all your boring events!”

"Charming." Oscar rolled his eyes and glanced over at Mike, who just stuffed his hands in his pockets.

“Five minutes won’t kill,” he answered gruffly, and Oscar groaned, defeated.

“Fine, let us see what you’ve got,” he ruffled her hair and she grinned, replacing her hat. This would probably be the last rodeo in which Charlie could have a go at her favourite sport, what was essentially a roughstock event for children. In fact, the fact that she was so small and light had prevented her from being prohibited already. Oscar watched as her large amber eyes flashed gleefully and she climbed over the fence as Hunapo signed the waver handed to them.

It was certainly a worry, and something he’d been expecting since she was born, but he still couldn’t help that sinking sensation in his stomach as he realised Charlie was following down the same path as Logan, Hunapo, her parents, and pretty much every member of the family. Well, what other life had she known? Even Oscar hadn’t been able to avoid competing in rodeo, but it had never been something he wanted for his baby sister.

But what he wanted for Charlie was never going to be the same as what she wanted for herself, and when Oscar glanced over at Michael, he knew he’d not be able to stop her doing what she wanted, lest they ended up like the remaining Jones brothers. Oscar wasn’t stupid enough to copy other people’s mistakes for the most part, and he actually wanted to stand by his remaining sibling.

Even if that meant watching her go the same way as Logan?

He didn’t know if Charlie had plans to become a bull rider. On the one hand, she’d been fascinated by the roughstock events since she was tiny, but on the other hand, only two years ago she’d watched her brother torn apart, and that was no memory for someone to have, let alone a tiny child.

Oscar hissed as his arm stung, and he rubbed the thing through his shirt but thankfully no one noticed.

This stupid event was taking everything from her but Oscar could understand all too well why she’d not turned away. He hadn’t. In fact, Logan’s death was what had propelled him into competing. Maybe there was something about their genes that bred reckless stupidity? It was a thought.

As the instructor, Yong Soo, helped Charlie onto the sheep and kept everyone relaxed, Oscar wondered if this would become his life now. It had only started as something he needed to win, if he did he’d never have to compete again. No matter how many times he failed, he’d pick himself up and come back, but after? He’d basically thrown away his education for this, and although he considered himself a man of many interests and talents, he honestly wasn’t sure what he wanted to do with his life, and that scared him. He needed a plan, to give him some peace of mind. Something in maths or agriculture, maybe, that was always an option if he decided to ever go back to school.

“Oh, here we go,” Hunapo chirped, nudging him. The sheep was released and darted around the paddock, Charlie holding on with a surprising strength, even using one hand to grip the rope, like a professional roughstock competitor. The thing tried with all it’s might to throw her off, but it couldn’t. Her balance was too good and she knew just when to shift her weight, not to mention her grip was like a snake’s jaw. He hated to admit it, but he was very impressed. He couldn’t do that as a child.

The eight seconds soon passed, then another eight before she finally fell to the ground. A scraped elbow was nowhere near enough to stop her from jumping up again and giving a little bow as parents and kids alike clapped and cheered. She was still grinning as she joined her family.

“What did you think?” she asked, breathless.

“Fantastic, sweetie!” Hunapo cooed, “what a tough little cowgirl you’ll grow up to be!”

“Yeah, well done, now if you’ll excuse us,” he pulled at Michael’s sleeve, and the two boys made their way through the crowd, Oscar making sure to keep his head down.

“You think maybe, one day, your sister will grow up and kick your ass at rodeo?” Mike asked in amusement, watching as Daisy darted ahead to sniff anything that looked remotely interesting.

“Probably. She was always better than me at sport and exercise,” Oscar sighed, “I just… Oh never mind.”

“Hey, c’mon man. What’s wrong?” He elbowed Oscar gently.

The young man drew himself up to his full height, trying desperately to hide his shining eyes under the brim of his hat.

“Charlie and I, well, we come from a long line of people who cut their lives so drastically short chasing titles and purse money, and I’m scared Charlie’s gonna go that way too.”

 

...

 

“So secrets, huh?” Mike scraped the heel of his boot in the dirt as he watched Oscar saddle up his horse.

“Secrets.” Oscar repeated. “Want to start?”

Mike squirmed. “Uh, sure.” He took off his hat and ran a hand through his hair, hoping it still looked relatively neat and stylish. Oscar looked immaculate, and usually did when not competing, and he certainly felt sloppy next to him, no matter how unwilling he was to change his appearance over something so trivial.

He pushed his glasses further up his nose as he wondered what he should say.

“If you want me to go first…” Oscar started.

“No, just gimme a sec, fuck’s sake.” Mike wrinkled his nose and glared at the ground, continuing to scuff his boot against it.

“I have a teddy bear called Gladiola,” he finally blurted out.

The corners of Oscar’s lips twitched upwards, but to Mike’s surprise, he didn’t laugh.

“Well I have a toy bilby called Allirea,” he admitted instead, and Michael gave him a warm smile.

“Fucking hell. You still take your plushie to bed with you?”

“Of course!”

Mike laughed. “Same here!” He scratched his chin and thought for a moment. “I once sneezed on a shelf of fresh produce at Walmart as a kid and didn’t tell anyone.”

“I stole a grape from a greengrocer’s when I was four and ate it,” Oscar shot back with a laugh.

“My iPod is, like, sixty percent Kelly Clarkson.”

“I still use cassette tapes.”

Mike’s eyebrows shot up. “Christ on a bike. One time I forgot to delete my internet history and Mom found it and I blamed it on Al.”

Oscar blinked before giving a short, weak, laugh. “I guess that would be funnier to someone who knew what ‘internet history’ was. I don’t actually have a computer to access the internet from, so yeah, no nothing about it.”

“Dude do you live in a cave or something?” Mike honestly didn’t know anyone his age who didn’t own a computer of some sort, even in the middle of nowhere where he lived.

“No, just a caravan,” Oscar scratched his neck.

“Oh, well, sometimes I get bored and talk to my plants. They’re pretty cool dudes.”

“I do that too,” Oscar whispered, burying his face in his hands, “I only have pot plants though.”

“Heh, I give mine names and personalities.”

“You too?!”

“Woah, no way! Holy fuck are we sados!” He barked out a laugh; “I want to save up enough money to go to England and visit Kew Gardens.” Oh God why would he admit that? It was true, but so dumb and who admits that sort of thing to other people?

“Same here!” Oscar took his hands, “wouldn’t it just be lovely to spend hours there? Walking amongst those rare flowers and winding paths.”

“It would,” Mike blushed, unable to tear himself away from Oscar’s deep olive eyes. Eventually, he managed to turn his head and break eye contact. “I want to know if Alfred would be proud of me, if he was still alive.”

“I’m sure he would,” Oscar threw him a quick, sympathetic smile; “I just want people to forget what Logan did.”

“I don’t know my Pa,” Mike breathed, the words out before he could stop himself. No, wait, he’d not meant to say that!

Oscar winced, “my parents are dead.” A deep secret for a deep secret; well, he had to keep things even or the trust would be damaged.

“That’s gotta be rough,” he muttered, “Mom died a few years back, stomach cancer, and… yeah… it’s tough losing a parent.”

Oscar finally let go of his hands after giving them a gentle squeeze. “Sounds awful. So you’re on your own then?”

“I still have Sam,” he sniffed, “but, yeah, I guess.”

Oscar nodded and the pair lapsed into a long period of silence. So that’s what Hunapo had meant by Oscar and Charlie’s secret, and it explained why they were the one stuck looking after the Cooper children.

“How’d it happen?” he eventually asked. Yes, it was probably too personal, and he was rude for asking, but he wanted to know! He knew he wouldn’t like the answer though.

“Saddle bronc.”

Yes, he didn’t like the answer already.

Oscar rubbed his nose, staring at the ground awkwardly. “Mum took a tumble, hit her head and went into a coma. Didn’t wake up. Dad… well, a few months later he just couldn’t take living without her, so took his shotgun and blew his brains out instead.”

“Fucking hell,” Mike gasped, “I’m so sorry dude, that must’ve been… wow.” That did explain why Oscar had been so upset over Charlie earlier.

“Yeah,” Oscar shrugged, “that’s life, I guess.” He straightened up and stretched. “C’mon. We’re losing daylight and we still have so much to do.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The dialogue in this chapter is honestly a thing of beauty. I can’t tell if it’s horribly out of character or hauntingly in character. Either way, it made me laugh. I should probably make note of a headcanon I have that, whilst Hutt abhors public swearing, and wouldn't swear himself because he feels it would set a bad example to the younger micronations, he can be quite creative with his swears when he's royally cheesed off.  
> Also, just a note, I went back and changed their eye colours to the ones in the anime, cause I quite liked them.  
> I like to think that in an au where they were married, they would honeymoon in London and visit Kew Gardens nearly every day and just admire the flowers for hours and hours. And go down the West End in the evenings to watch some of their favourite shows. And of course Molly would want to visit the transport museum at least once! And the science museum. And they’d go to all the parks and tourist spots and take dorky pictures and HELP I LOVE THESE NERDS AND THEIR DUMB RELATIONSHIP!  
> I really want to update this more, as I’ve said, along with Just Kids, and maybe some of the others… but the truth of the matter is I’m complete and utter HuttMol trash and too deep in this ship and their dumb aus. Help, seriously!  
> Also, oh wow Until Dawn nicked all my human names haha! Mike, Sam, Matt... it seems Alfred’s entire family is named after a character! And it’s a double whammy with Michael Joshua! And the game itself involves American characters in Canada too! Dunno why, but I find the whole thing hilarious. Michael actually reminds me of Mike too, with their greeny jackets and funny exclamations.  
> You know, sometimes I have more fun writing the author’s notes than I do the chapters themselves, and I REALLY like writing the chapters. Especially this one.


	10. Teamwork

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eh, sorry this is late, exactly 3 months after the last chapter. I wanted to try harder with descriptions and actually slowing down to set the scene and think about what the characters would be doing and their thoughts and body language. To be honest, I just want to try harder with writing. Get it as near to perfect as I can.

It had been tough going, but as the day of the team roping dawned, Mike allowed himself a bit of hope that things might go well for him. Err, them. After all, his and Oscar’s teamwork had only gotten better and better over the two days of training, and maybe, just maybe, they were beginning to see each other as friends.

Oscar Cooper was still annoying as hell, make no mistake about that, but Mike no longer wanted to strangle him. That was something, right? Anyone who knew him and how little tolerance he had of other people and teamwork would say that was marvellous progress.

The two exchanged nervous, hopeful grins as they watched everyone file into their seats, spotting friends and relatives easily amongst the crowd. It was still exhilarating, the force of hundreds of people waiting for the show to start, murmuring and laughing, and Mike swore he saw a small child clapping and cheering them on. He was a performer, he was a star, he was an athlete who would beat anything. The smell of dirt and animals far exceeded those of new fabrics and expensive makeup though, in his honest opinion. He didn’t need glitz and glamour, just his hat, boots and skills. He took a deep breath. It was natural. It was home. The crowd was cheering for his success- or humiliating failure- and he was lapping it all up. Michael wasn’t one for large, booming crowds or being the centre of attention, but boy he loved the feeling of being in the arena surrounded by a volcano of support. People liked him in the arena; he wasn’t Mike the antisocial loser there, he was the under 18’s USA champion, representing the home team.

Of course, right now he was patiently waiting for his turn in the stand- watching New Zealand and Canada’s competitors readying themselves in the box- as opposed to actually roping steers.

“Nervous?” asked Oscar, almost protectively.

Mike laughed, voice carried by his cheerful spirits. The bitterness and corruption inside of him were silent, almost nonexistent, for once. “Hell no! This ain’t my first rodeo! Geddit, cause it’s literally a rodeo...”

Oscar looked like he had no intention of letting even the tiniest of giggles escape his rather full lips.

“Hey come on that was funny!” Mike wrinkled his nose, “laugh!”

“No.”

Mike leaned closer. “Laugh, motherfucker, laugh.”

“I won’t.” The corners of Oscar’s mouth twitched upwards.

“Do it.”

“No!”

“Laugh, it’s the second best thing you can do with your mouth.”

“What?”

“What?”

Mike flushed. What ever happened to thinking before speaking? “That was a joke too!”

“I should bloody hope so!”

“Should I give you two some space?” asked a rather embarrassed Mexican competitor, wedged between Oscar and the railings and looking like he'd rather be anywhere else right now.

“Heh, no, we’re just jokin’ around!” Mike gushed. “It’s cool. Oscar took the joke.”

“No I didn’t.”

“Well take it!”

Oscar raised an eyebrow, still trying not to laugh. “I want a refund instead.”

“Ah shuddup!”

And he was laughing, Mike allowing himself to bathe in a shower of- in his opinion rather well-earned- smugness. He was funny and Oscar’s laugh proved that! It had nothing to do with Oscar’s laugh sounding like liquid sunshine. Mike blushed slightly as he realised that was probably the most poetic drivel his brain had ever strung together, and it wasn’t even true! Oscar’s laugh was awful dammit: controlled and haughty and oh so awkward. Didn’t the guy ever just let himself roll on the floor guffawing until tears streamed out of his face? Why did everything he do have to look so held back and refined. It drove him up the wall, in all honesty, how Oscar seemed to need to be in control of everything, including his own damn emotions. “I hope that imprudence was not genuine though, as we’re next.”

“Nah, I’m just messing with ya.” He gave his own controlled laugh, though that was more of a whisper, a movement of the chest, a quick exhale and a lump in the throat. If something funnier had been said, he’d probably bark out a titter or possibly even boom out a terrifying belly-laugh as he lost all control of his face, but it was fair to say he didn’t find anything that amusing nowadays. In fact, the only emotion he ever let reign supreme anymore was anger and he knew that wasn’t healthy. Maybe he should try to joke more, to shatter his mold, and Oscar’s too. Profound, he was sure, but it wouldn’t harm anyone for them to loosen up a bit, now that they were buddy pal chum friends.

“Hey, come on,” Oscar nudged him gently. “It’s our turn now.”

“Huh?” Mike blinked as he watched the other climb into his own box, heeling first. He bounded over to the other, empty, box where his horse was waiting. This was it. Time to prove to the world that he could work in a team, that he and Oscar weren’t always at each other’s throats. They were still rather rusty, and Michael could list at least 13 ways this could all go wrong, but hey, they both wanted to win pretty badly, so surely they could pull through.

Mike glanced over at Oscar to find the other waiting patiently, ready and bristling with energy. He liked that: the little, hopeful movements, gleaming eyes, nervous hands determined to keep a grip on the rope, the twitch at the corners of his mouth as he tried not to grin like a maniac.

A good sign, Michael thought to himself, a very good sign indeed. As he came to the conclusion that he wouldn’t have to worry about Oscar not giving the event his all, he realised that, despite all they’d said and done, he trusted the other. It was a warm feeling, he supposed, having faith in another person, and certainly not one he was used to.

He called for a steer, and the thing burst free from its chute, Michael following seconds before Oscar. He was already swinging the rope in a huge, sweeping loop beside him, and, almost in a blink, the rope was around the steer’s horns in a neat, legal, throw. Dally. Pull. Oscar threw. Another legal catch and its hind legs were tied together! Oscar dallied his rope and the timer stopped at a respectable 4.5 seconds. Not bad, not bad at all, a wonderful start, even.

The pair exchanged breathless grins, moving forward to high-five each other before climbing down.

 

...

 

The eighth and final go-round, and Mike was bouncing in his saddle, sparks flying through him as he felt unstoppable. No, he was unstoppable!

This was how he was supposed to feel! Rivalries, points, all that nonsense seemed obsolete now. All that mattered was the sun in his face, the beast beneath him and the rope in his hands, just competing because it gave him a thrill. There were no boots to fill here. No name to make.

He glanced over at Oscar, and found the boy’s eyes shining a mirror.

Maybe he should have been more concerned. After all, Both he and Oscar had moments where they’d almost gotten themselves disqualified from the previous go-rounds. It had been tense, those painful split-seconds, but somehow they’d managed, and were first! He could roll with this.

Certain the other was as ready as he was, Michael once again called for a steer, throwing himself after it within seconds. Thundering hooves were his applause as his arm swung that familiar swing, landing a legal catch and dallying the rope with as much strength as he could muster. Eighth time round, and it was starting to get a bit tricky; his arm was getting heavier, but he could still manage. He was a strong lad, after all. This was the last time he'd have to do this and after, well, he was looking forward to a long hot shower and good night’s rest.

Just as that thought came to mind, he watched Oscar finish his own dallying and throw his hands in the air, panting and still wearing that controlled, fixed smile. Oh please, Mike groaned to himself, give a real smile! Maybe he would when they'd found out if they'd won the event. In all honestly, they had. They'd been first for a few go-rounds now and nothing had gone wrong here!

However, that smile, fake as it was, was wiped off his face faster than their respectable time of 4.8 when he and Michael saw the assistant by the chute, checking the barrier at the ground in front of Mike’s box and mumbling into their radio, most likely talking to a judge. That was never good.

The judging panel was talking amongst themselves now, and the two boys exchanged apprehensive glances. What did they do this time?

“Ten second penalty awarded to Mike Jones and Oscar Cooper for a broken barrier,” the announcer boomed with slightly less enthusiasm.

Oh.

Mike, almost casually, wondered if he’d been shot. That’s what it felt like, the lead in his chest threatening to pull him from his horse, and he had a horrible suspicion he’d just let it. His hands were trembling and blood rushed through his arms and chest, and he feared this sensation would cause him to throw up his breakfast. Not that his numb face would feel it. No. This wasn’t happening. He’d not broken the barrier in nearly two years! And the first time… someone had been counting on him… no, it had to be a mistake!

Oscar.

Oscar must’ve broken it! The announcer hadn’t said who specifically was to blame, and maybe the assistant had happened to be looking at Mike’s barrier as he talked. There was always a reason. There always had to be a way.

He was the professional here, after all. Not like little ametaur Oscar, only here to fuel his tragic backstory, who knew next to nothing of this sport, who would even be here and trained if his brother hadn’t been engaged to Haka Huna Davies. He shouldn’t be here and Mike shouldn’t have been paired with him. It wasn’t fair! He shouldn’t have been paired with such a novice!

Oscar was to blame!

On the outside, Mike could only nod as his senses told him he should really get out of the arena so the next participants could start. He didn’t look for his brother or cousin in the crowd, and prayed to every higher power he could think of that Sam and Matt had chosen that moment to go and get sandwiches and drinks. Oh, that was one dumb fucking thought right there. They’d be here, looking down and cheering them on. He sincerely doubted they’d be cheering now, and fear of what they’d actually be saying and doing sent his eyes firmly to the ground.

That stupid fucking Cooper boy.

 

…

 

Mike hadn’t said a word, and Oscar was terrified of being the one to start this conversation.

Things were getting tense at the edge of the arena, where the final few competitors waited for their turns; the other contestants were giving the boys and the choking atmosphere surrounding them a wide berth. Outside their little bubble of, well, whatever Oscar himself was feeling and Mike’s sulking, things seemed to be continuing as normal. People competed in a flash, others set up and prepared for each go-round in a considerably longer amount of time, and the crowd set the mood with its noise. Thankfully, no family members had come to investigate, though Oscar swore he’d seen Huna out the corner of his eye, a few rows back. Probably concerned.

Mike, on the other hand, well, it was possible the apocalypse could suddenly reign down on them, and he’d be too busy pouting to notice.

The boy seemed to be practically radiating rage, face buried in the collar of his shirt, breathing slowly, heavily. He glared at his folded arms, like he was hoping the muscles and dark hairs would hold the answer. Oscar frowned; answer to what though? A way to regain his wounded pride? It certainly wasn’t a way to claw back a victory, but hey, a disqualification from Canada and New Zealand’s team meant they weren’t quite last; that was something swell, right?

Their team was in tatters though, trust fragile and close to breaking point. And once the trust broke, well, that wasn’t something that could ever be fixed, or restored completely. They wouldn’t have to compete together again, but this wasn’t the way Oscar wanted them to go; this couldn’t be how their team ended. He hated to say it, but he was rather fond of the other, and didn’t want them to go back to petty rivalry because of this.

Still, over the years, Oscar, in many ways, had made the English language his personal plaything; he was the master of words with an endless supply of synonyms, idioms and flowery talk up his sleeve to use as he saw fit, to recreate the highest standard of speaking, that revelled in by royalty. He could flatter, lie and even manipulate his way out of a sticky situation, not that he ever liked resorting to such brutish, downright evil, tactics. But still, cheering up his sulking teammate couldn’t be too much of a problem and, though every nerve screamed at him to do otherwise, he approached Michael with open, civil, if not quite friendly, arms. What? Mike’s frustration might be rubbing off on him too.

“Um, hey,” he began, cursing his very tongue for tripping up so soon. So much for being the master of words. But Michael tended to leave him speechless, in the best and worst ways possible, and Oscar hated that.

The cowboy in question, fittingly, remained silent.

“It appears things may not have gone quite as planned,” Oscar supposed he should’ve stopped to at least plan what he was going to say. But no, he was going straight in letting his mouth speed off before his brain could stop it. He really was turning into his brother, in everything but personal hygiene. “I dare say they even look bleak.”

Mike’s nostrils flared.

But still, Oscar didn’t falter. “However, we should not let this get to us.”

The shadow under the brim of Mike’s hat lengthened. Oscar, although he considered himself a wise man, continued with his little pep-talk.

“We had fun training together, and these things happen to even the best of us. Do not let yourself be put off by a silly mistake. You're still a good athlete.”

Mike’s head snapped up, glaring at him with watery eyes that lanced Oscar’s soul, and a thin, wobbling mouth, pulled and showing teeth. Oscar braced himself for whatever whiny, immature tirade he’d be subjected to, but to his surprise, Mike just took a deep, shuddering breath and pushed past him, disappearing down the aisle to the exit. Oscar had a sneaking suspicion he didn’t want anyone to see him cry, but really, they needed to talk!

He sighed as he followed his partner outside, trying his best to get Mike to stop storming away. The sun glared on his face and there were a few people out here, gawping at them both; he really didn’t want to do this in public, but if Mike was going to make things difficult he’d have to roll with it.

“Did I say something wrong?” he tried.

Mike snapped his head back, mouth twisted into a mixture of a snarl and pout and the other boy couldn’t help flinching. “Yeah, that little spiel about it being my fault. That bullshit that just came out of your ass. Want to explain?”

Oscar blinked. “I'm sorry?"

"Apology accepted."

"But, it was you, right?”

That just seemed to make things worse. “Oh yeah? What makes you say that? C’mon, have a sense of fucking perspective here!”

“I don’t think I understand,” spluttered Oscar, “I didn’t do it! It must’ve been you! They were checking-”

“So yer assuming? Well thanks, partner!” Mike spat on the dust at Oscar’s feet. “Don’t kid yourself buddy; out of the two of us, which one’s the rookie here who makes rookie mistakes? The dickhead with no clue what he’s doing?”

Now it was Oscar’s turn to scowl. “That’s not fair! I am not useless at this, and in case you haven’t noticed I’m winning. Or was winning. God knows what position I am now you fucked it all up!”

Michael guessed he would never expect those rare times Oscar swore, but that wasn’t what made him feel like he’d been punched in the face. He didn’t fuck anything up, for once.

“Yeah? Beginner’s luck, for all I care! You’re about to get knocked off your little pedestal; then everyone will finally see how fucking pathetic you really are, just hiding in the shadows of your brother and Davies and piggy-backing off their fame! You don’t belong here and you never will you pussy!”

Another thing Michael would never have expected was for Oscar to actually punch him in the face.

Oscar’s snarl took on a dark shadow as he drew back his fist and launched it at the other’s jaw. Mike didn’t even have time to regain his balance, let alone block the blow, and he tumbled backwards into the dirt before he’d even processed the punch. The sting from his mouth was only just greater than his wounded pride, the very force that compelled him to haul himself up and land a punch of his own, right on Oscar’s stupid upturned nose. The boy cried out as he stumbled back, clutching his face was blood dribbled through his fingers.

“What’s the matter, you c-word debris?” Mike threw his arms wide, “can’t you take what you dish out?”

“It’s cunt, you cunt!” Oscar wiped his mouth and flung himself forward, throwing punch after punch with Mike managing to dodge a handful of them. He was caught in the eye as he landed a punch on Oscar’s stomach, and both swore as they flew at each other. Their fighting all too soon descended into a mess of swinging fists and hurled insults, each more spiteful nasty than the last. The tang of blood filled Mike’s mouth. He didn’t care. He just revelled in the idea that Oscar was tasting just as much. Here he had an advantage, being stockier with a lower centre of gravity. Spindly Oscar, on the other hand, was almost too easy to send sprawling, even if his fists could deal a nasty blow.

Just as the two tripped, pulling each other down and writhing and kicking on the ground, strong arms yanked them apart and it took a few moments for Mike to register it was Sam that had pinned his arms behind him, in fact, he only realised after he’d kicked her in the shin.

“What the fuck is going on?” Hunapo bellowed as they dragged Oscar away, one hand on his shoulder and the other pulling at his ear.

“He started it,” Mike mumbled, brushing his bruised eye with his fingers.

“You wound me up!” Oscar cried, pointing a finger accusingly, “it’s your fault!”

“You pissed me off! You couldn’t take what you deal; not my problem.”

“Oh shut up the pair of you,” Sam yanked her cousin back, “that’s no way for respectable young cowboys to behave. What’s gotten into you both?”

“He fucked up the barrier,” Mike waved a hand over at the other, revelling in his glare, “we went from first to fourth because of this dickhead!”

“So you decided to fight over it?” Hunapo raised an eyebrow, “come on, you’re better than this.”

Oscar wiped a trickle of blood from the corner of his mouth. “Mike isn’t.”

“You threw the first punch!”

“Enough!” Sam stood between them, place a hand over Mike’s chest. “both of your behaviours have been utterly disgusting! Apologise. Go on!”

Neither looked too keen on the idea. Even after a hefty nudge from Hunapo, Oscar kept his mouth firmly shut.

“Now,” Sam growled, and, to everyone’s surprise, Mike relented first. But it wasn’t because he wanted to be the bigger man, rather that he’d just spied Matthew out of the corner of his eye, arms folded with a poisonous glare thrown in his little brother’s direction. His stomach dropped as he mumbled out that he was sorry, hoping it sounded at least half-genuine.

“I apologise as well,” Oscar murmured defeatedly, and Huna finally let go.

“That’s better,” Sam glanced between the two, “now just what’s gotten into you?”

“We told you,” grumbled Mike, “he broke the barrier.”

“We don’t know who did it,” Oscar corrected.

“But it was probably you.”

“What the hell is your problem?” The other dived forward, only just held back by Huna grabbing his scarf.

“Stop it.”

“What happened to your team?” asked Sam, “c’mon, we were really rooting for ya!”

“Team?” Mike’s laugh laugh was almost maniacal. “Yeah right! We tried, okay? We tried to get along but we will never be friends!”

“It’s true,” added Oscar.

“We’re nothing but rivals now,” the glare Michael sent at the other did nothing to make Oscar look like he cared. The older boy just stared back with the most bored expression he could be bothered to muster. "Do not get in my way."

“Indeed.”

“Oh give me a break,” snarled Huna, rubbing their face with a hand.

 

…

 

Things seemed to calm down now, Hunapo noted as they watched Charlie mop up Oscar’s nose, wiping dried blood with a cloth. It had taken a while to convince her that he hadn’t received that from an animal or the ground, but rather his own teammate, and that he was the one who threw the first punch. Yeah, Oscar had no idea why she found it so hard to believe.

They were still outside the arena, the two kids sat on a hay bale as the few people still about gawked at them for a long moment before moving on, only slightly curious about the two bloodied children and their guardian contemplating a date with a bottle of tequila. Maybe even a long term relationship. They weren’t sure they wanted to get involved in one of those again, but potent alcohol would be a beautiful exception.

This parenting thing was harder than they’d thought, something they’d been saying at least once a month for the past two years and honestly, it was a wonder life could still surprise them like this anymore. But here they were, wondering how to talk to Oscar on how decking your teammate wasn’t good sportsmanship. He probably already knew that though. What was the point in bringing it up again? The kid would probably just throw a strop.

They still couldn’t believe their eyes. One moment they’d been searching for Oscar and Mike with Samantha, worrying that the two were too upset over their performance, and the next they were running to break up the pair brawling on the floor like animals. It was unbelieveable. The last time they’d seen such raw emotion in Oscar’s eyes, he’d been on his knees in a field, on the verge of tears as he told himself he’d never be good enough, that he’d never help his brother like this.

Hunapo hoped with all their heart that this was just a one-time occurrence. It probably was, given that he’d never have to work with Michael again. God willing.

They heard a huff and glanced around to find Matt storming past, face like a bulldog licking piss off a nettle, and decided that, if the kids wouldn’t, then they at least should try to patch things up between the two families.

“Oh, hey Matt,” they began, rather anxiously. They got along with the tall, lanky older brother and didn’t want any bad blood between them, or between Matt and Oscar.

“Huh?” the man in question jumped at the greeting, “oh, hi Huna. D’you need something?”

“Oh nothing,” Huna, certain that Charlie and Oscar wouldn’t get into anymore trouble, decided to walk with him, “I just want to see if you’re okay.” Matt nodded as he took off again, Hunapo trotting along beside him.

“No, I suppose,” Matt gave a groan, “me and Mike aren’t talking again. He didn’t like me telling him how you shouldn’t get into fights.”

“Well it wasn’t like he started it,” reasoned Hunapo.

“Yes, but there’s no need to retaliate. I mean, mom always said if someone hit you, hit them back but I really don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Hmm,” Huna thought for a moment, “but is Mike the kind of kid to just take a punch?”

Matt sighed. “What do you think?”

“Well, at least he tried to defend himself. I mean, they were both out of order, and I know I’m surprised at Oscar’s behavior…”

“I’m surprised that I’m surprised, mostly.”

“Hey, c’mon, Mike doesn’t seem like a bad kid. I think the temperature and pressure and everything just got to them both. Doubt they’re stupid enough to pull a repeat stunt.”

“So what are you saying?” Matt rubbed his temples.

“Don’t be too hard on him, I guess,” Hunapo shrugged, “we’ve both given them a bollocking, let’s just drop it, ‘kay?”

“I wish I could, but we’re not talking anymore, I said. He won't have anything to do with me and I don't really want to see him.”

“Well you’re both gonna have to start talking again,” chided Hunapo, “because the bronc events are next and I’m pretty sure that brother of yours could use some advice from the best of the best."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is becoming a documentary on Hunapo’s slow descent into alcoholism. Not that I can blame them.  
> So much for Hutt and Molly getting along, amirite? To be honest, I can’t believe the first thing I wrote of those two after taking a long break was them punching the fuck out of each other. Unbelievable.


	11. Bucking

Oscar hadn’t really understood this aspect of training at first, but now he simply couldn’t compete without it.

Hunapo stood next to him, knees bent into an angle Oscar had spent weeks learning to replicate, ignoring the pinch of his jeans as he listened to his guardian chant. The tapping of his foot kept rhythm and he barely had to focus on it now as he slapped his thighs, chest and elbows the way he’d been taught. He still didn’t know what the other was saying, but he knew what to do. Where to move his arms. He didn’t even need to look at Hunapo to do this anymore; it just came natural to him now.

Maybe it was the fact that he’d never been one to support his home rugby team enough to watch a game or learn about the sport, coupled with a complete lack of knowledge regarding everything about New Zealand until his brother fell for the tiny kiwi, but when Hunapo had first introduced him to the Haka, he’d been somewhat cynical of the idea of a warmup dance before competing. But boy had he been wrong.

He also now knew what Hunapo meant when they wished they could perform this in the arena. Oscar wondered if the faces he was pulling- not as good as Hunapo’s, and still a little restrained- would be enough to intimidate his competition. His eyes bulged as he waggled his tongue, trying to match the other’s bellowing roar. He was getting better!

As Hunapo gave their final shout, Oscar threw his arms into position and let out a cry, pulling a face that would have been terrifying to his audience, had his audience not been a rather bored Charlie.

“So, you ready kid?” Hunapo breathed deeply as they made their way over to the bed and threw themselves down, Charlie giggling as the mattress wobbled, nearly sending her off the edge.

“I suppose,” Oscar shrugged as he joined the others, picking up a pillow to clutch to his chest, “but I never did care for the roughstock events.”

“I’m aware,” they chuckled, probably reliving an amusing memory, most likely of Oscar falling on his backside.

“I’m just a little nervous,” he added, “but, who wouldn’t be?”

Hunapo shrugged.

“Except you, maybe. You won.”

That made them laugh, at least. “It still terrified me! There’s so much to think about out there and the last thing I want to do is think.”

“Just hold on for dear life, with both hands, huh?” Oscar sighed. Learning to keep his balance, grip with one hand, move with the horse as one, it hadn’t been easy. Still, once he’d gotten over the paralyzing fear of being thrown to the ground and stomped into a pancake, Oscar had worked pretty hard at looking like he wasn’t crying inside. Now, he liked to think he had a grace akin to a ballerina. A rough, tough, manly ballerina. In faded jeans and red neckscarf.

He, personally, didn’t see the reason for competitors only being able to use one hand for roughstock events, but he supposed it made the task of staying on the animals all the more difficult, and those that succeeded all the more impressive.

“Yeah, still, I have one event over and done with, and I’m sure you’ll do well too.” Hunapo rested their hands behind their head, humming to themselves.

“Well, if previous attempts are anything to go by…” Oscar sighed.

“You were younger. Let’s move on, okay?”

Another sigh. “Okay. I just wish I had more confidence.”

“Doesn’t warming up help?” asked Hunapo.

“Not as much as I’d like,” after a moment’s thought, and observing his guardian, he continued. “Would having tattoos like yours help, you think?”

“I fail to see how,” replied Hunapo, “they’re a symbol of pride for me, not confidence. And if Haka doesn’t help you, why would Moko?”

Oscar shrugged. “I don’t know. Getting tattoos hurts, right? So I just thought if I could sit through getting them, I could do anything. Besides, you look so cool with them, out there. Like a warrior.”

“Well aren’t you sweet,” Hunapo smiled a warm smile, hugging their knees. “Flattery will get you nowhere though.”

“Drat!”

“You can’t even get Moko, but, hey, if it’ll make you feel better, I’ll talk to my uncle when we get back and try to sort something out. You know, as a present for being such a brave little cowboy.”

 

…

 

The last thing Mike needed was this jerk annoying him!

He scowled into his bowl of porridge as Matthew sat opposite him, hoping to ignore his brother until he left again. It was a shame, really. He’d been so calm and happy here, next to the beautiful arching window making up an alcove, sat at his tiny two-person table where a healthy breakfast was laid out before him. A potted plant tickled the back of his neck, and he’d slipped the thing some water when he was sure no one was looking; now both of them were enjoying the morning sun spilling through their little window.

A handful of other competitors were already down here too, most staying in this, the cheapest hotel within driving distance of the fair. None had disturbed Mike, all in their own little bubbles of nerves, and he couldn’t blame them. There was a good chance one of them would end up in hospital by the end of the day. They were all brilliant, make no mistake about that, but so much could go wrong and even the best of the best weren’t immune to the dangers of the roughstock events.

Mike needed peace and quiet before the bronc events, to collect himself and focus. He’d done these before, and knew what to expect, but it was still scary! Thrilling, no doubt, but the possibility of serious injury gave the event an edge that could either overload him with frayed nerves or pump him full of adrenaline.

It was hard to focus this time though. His eye still stung and the bruise hadn’t faded, though thankfully the swelling in his jaw had gone down and the other competitors had finally stopped whispering about him barely within earshot. His only other comfort was the fact that Oscar's nose hadn't healed up completely either.

So the last thing he needed right now was a lecture off this motherfucker!

Mike winced. Maybe not the best word to use on his brother.

“Hey,” Matt began, “nervous?”

Mike didn’t reply.

“The silent treatment, huh? Come on, I’m here to help you.”

“I don’t need your help.” Mike’s scowl deepened, and still he refused to look at the man.

“Oh really? Are you sure about that?”

“Absolutely,” he spat.

“Well you know, even the greatest need to ask for help every now and again, and I do know a fair bit about the event. Look, I’m not here to fight you, I’m just trying to help. If you're not pulling out, then I'm gonna make sure you don't end up in hospital. Again.”

Mike finally glanced up. There was no hostility in Matt’s expression, only friendliness, and slight trepidation, and he decided to see what his brother had to say. Matt’s bronc riding skills were famous by now, and hundreds had been disappointed at his early retirement from the sport, including Michael, so he should certainly give the guy the benefit of the doubt. Besides, as much as he loved saddle bronc, he needed all the help he could get.

Not that Matt could ever know. He just wanted to make up with his brother, that’s all.

“Fine,” he grunted, “say what you came here to say.”

“And then leave?”

“Got it in one,” Mike didn’t mean it, and Matt knew that.

“Well, we should get started then,” he replied, “now, about your footwork, it’s good but…”

 

…

 

He’d rather die than admit his stupid brother’s advice helped in any way, but Mike had a sneaking suspicion it may be why he was now first.

It had been a good event, his best yet as he danced across the arena, not getting thrown off once, well, not within the eight seconds that mattered, anyway. Now, he was sore, tired and in surprisingly good spirits, ready to wrap everything up and go back to his hotel room for some well earned relaxation. He'd probably watch a movie with Sam; that sounded fun!

And he was now ahead of that Cooper boy!

He was first and Oscar was third, meaning by the end of this he’d be a total of one point ahead! After winning the rest of the events, God willing, he’d be unstoppable! And everyone would soon forget about Logan Cooper’s pathetic younger brother. Hopefully, the guy would throw enough of a strop to not come back next year.

Still, Oscar was irrelevant. All that mattered now was getting through this final round in one piece.

He climbed onto his horse, settling down in the worn, comfy saddle he’d been using for years now, ever since he first started saddle bronc and he wasn’t really sure how he was supposed to get used to a new one, when this one finally fell apart. He pointed the toes of his boots the way Matt showed him, the way he’d practised for years now.

He gave the gate man a quick signal and they were gone.

The bronc leapt out of the chute and he swung his legs forward to touch the beast’s neck with his spurs before it touched the ground again, and they were off in their eccentric tango. Mike swung his legs back and forth in time with the bronc’s movements as the thing tried with all its might to throw him off. It was a very good horse in that sense, agile and strong enough to get a good score. Hopefully the two of them could get a final result well into the 70s!

The bronc dipped its head down and kicked its hind legs in the air, but he held on. He held on for every jump, every kick and duck and buck, moving in time with his companion. His dance partner. His nemesis.

And the eight seconds were up.

Mike held on for a few more before sliding off the bronc and landing with a thud on the floor.

 

…

 

A few scrapes and bruises, but it honestly could’ve ended far worse for him.

To look at, there was a strange calm about him as he wiped the cuts on his arms with a cloth provided by one of the other competitors, but inside, his belly was full of fireworks.

Mike had secured his win, and was now watching the current second place, New Zealand’s competitor, try to stay on as long as she could. He was glowing from his victory, 83 points! His best ever score! He grinned as he wondered what Matt would say because, even after everything that happened, he still wanted his brother to be proud of him. Surely he would now?

Still, he now had half the roughstock events over and done with and, although they were some of his favourites, he couldn’t say he wasn’t relieved. The bronc events were dangerous and he was lucky he hadn’t received a more serious injury, like the ones his brothers received when they were his age.

The crowd groaned and he snapped out of his thoughts to see New Zealand’s competitor thrown to the ground, landing painfully in her back and not getting up. He watched as the pick up men kept the horse away and she was helped up, limping towards the edge of the arena.

Mike’s heart went out to her, not only for that rather painful landing, but because she fell off before the eight seconds were up and, as a result, would plummet down the leaderboard.

Pushing Oscar to second.

Mike groaned, resting his forehead against the gate he was leaning on. Now they were tied, and Mike still had another event to go before he was in the lead. Still, on the bright side, at least Oscar hadn’t pushed ahead any further, and there was still time to beat him.

Mike sighed and he turned and walked out of the stadium. Matt and Sam would soon be joining him, but he needed a few minutes for himself, to collect his thoughts and calm down. It was a small setback, and one he needed to get over quickly. Matt would be able to tell if he was letting his jealousy get to him, so he decided to push all thoughts of Cooper to the back of his mind and focus on the positives.

He squeezed himself between the wall of the arena and a stack of hay, taking in the scents around him and travelling back to a simpler time. He ran a hand through his hair, letting it fall over his eyes like it used to, remembering when he was a child, always following Al and Matt about, wanting to be like them more than anything.

He wondered what Alfred would make of him now.

“I must say I’m impressed.” He caught the soft voice of his other brother, seizing up as he listened closely. Matt’s footsteps stopped, along with a second pair, and he could hear the conversation clearly now.

“Me too,” Hunapo added, and Mike’s eyebrows shot up, “that brother of yours sure knows how to wow the judges.”

“He drew a good horse,” Matt admitted, “but it takes two to get the scores he did.”

“Agreed, I- Michael, you know I can see your feet?”

Mike flinched. “Yeah?” he spoke up, pulling himself into plain sight, “just making sure you guys weren’t talking shit about me.”

“Quite the contrary,” Matt told him, “I hate to admit it, but you did good out there.”

“I know, I heard,” Mike’s grin could cut through steel, “but feel free to continue. Pretend I ain’t here.”

Well, that earned a pair of chuckles, at least.

“Are you okay though?” asked Matt, “you’re not injured?”

“A bit battered,” Mike gave a shrug, “but nothin’ serious.”

“I’ll be the judge of that.” To Mike’s utter horror, his brother pinched his cheek, pulling out a handkerchief to wipe his face.

“Hey what the hell! Stop it you’re embarrassing! Fuck off Grandma Williams!”

It did nothing except make Hunapo burst out laughing.

“C’mon kid," said Matt, "let’s find Sam and go get you rested.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should point out that the little girl competing for New Zealand isn’t nyo Zea. In fact, besides the main characters, none of the other cowboys/girls are actually countries or country ocs, just little characters that started out as completely blank but I’m starting to develop little personalities and appearances for. New Zealand’s under 18 competitor and Canada and Brazil’s 18-25 competitors are most fleshed out so far. Maybe I’ll draw them sometime when I have more ideas!  
> I should probably add something about bronc events too: both the horse and rider are judged by two judges, each earning a maximum of 50 points each which are combined to get the final score. It seems a little odd to me, I mean, what if you draw a horse that isn’t so hot at bucking? Still, what do I know? I’m just a guy with a laptop.  
> Anyway, hope everyone liked this chapter! And if you did, tell me because I'm lonely.


	12. Dreams

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Man I really want to finish this fic; the ending’s gonna be a belter. For me, at least. I doubt any of yous will be laughing.  
> Now, this chapter focuses on a character I’ve neglected these past few chapters, mostly because he wasn’t needed and I knew he’d be getting his own chapter soon, heh.  
> Either way, I hope people are still enjoying this. It’s hard to tell because so few people seem to use ff.net anymore and I don’t have much of a following on AO3, not to mention people don’t really comment here. Maybe I should’ve stuck to popular pairings lol.  
> Speaking of popular pairings...

Arthur didn’t like thinking about how things could’ve been- that nonsense was for dreamers and fools- but at times like this, surrounded by people living a life only read about in books he’d buy as a kid with his pocket money, a future where he’d be completely satisfied with life seemed to be glaring right at him, tormenting him and his cowardice. He could’ve had the job of his dreams too, but he’d bottled out after college and applied for an accounting degree instead, trudging through university with just enough interest to finish, growing increasingly bitter about his life. And things had only gotten worse after he graduated. His stupid job was stifling and his coworkers made him feel like the only intelligent person in a sea of idiots, more so when his little quips and stabbing remarks went right through them. He barely understood his job half the time, doing as little as he could before sodding off home to drink himself silly and watching telly programmes so bad that they just made him angrier.

He groaned as he sank onto the bed, rubbing his face with a hand. Maybe Samantha deserved someone with the confidence to do what he wanted in life. He was better off alone.

That’s what he’d been telling himself each time his previous partners left him for being too depressing, and there was always a part of him waiting for Sam to do the same. She didn’t need someone like him dragging her down, and he didn’t need her irritating optimism.

Except that he did and he hated it.

Samantha was a whirlwind, it seemed, and not just in personality, Arthur noticed with a grimace as he looked about their hotel room. He understood she was busy though, and didn’t have time to tidy up every item of clothing, or any, really. Under any other circumstances, he’d have found this unacceptable, but with Sam he didn’t care. Much.

There weren’t many things Arthur felt he’d got right, but Sam was definitely one of them. And the more time he spent with her, watching her live her dream, watching everyone here live their dreams, the more he began to think that maybe, just maybe, he should’ve continued with his own dreams. Oh who was he kidding? It had been the shadow hanging over him ever since he listened to his parents, shelved his novel, and gave up his life's ambition.

His younger self would hate him for what he’d become.

He could almost see his nine year old self, short and awkward, with knobbly knees and missing front teeth, and the homemade knight costume. Arthur laughed at the memory. He’d almost forgotten his little helmet, made from a cereal box, and his cardboard sword and shield. His little baby blanket had been his cape, and his sister’s- borrowed without permission- nightdress for a tunic. Sir Arthur the Brave wouldn’t have stood for this!

Sir Arthur the Brave would’ve tapped his foot and pouted, little bushy eyebrows knotted together as he told his older self off.

“You got boring,” he’d have whined, “all stuffy and grown up! What happened?”

“I became a stuffy, boring grown up,” Arthur replied with a snap.

“Well why? I thought we made a promise, none of that! We’ll be kids forever! We had a deal, old man, no dull jobs.”

“Well that’s not how life works,” Arthur turned away, glaring at a pair of Sam’s muddy boots in the corner.

“Why not?”

“Because.”

“Because why?”

Now Arthur was annoyed. “Because in life you have to become an adult and get a job to pay your bills! There’s no room for games and stories!”

“Well that’s disappointing to hear,” Sir Arthur stepped forward to climb on the bed, perched next to his adult self. Arthur deliberately didn’t look at him. “I thought we were gonna become a writer. You know, be the next big author!”

“You thought wrong,” Arthur’s voice wobbled at that. By the time he was fifteen, he’d already imagined the cottage he’d buy by the sea, with a view of the English Channel that would inspire hundreds of novels about whatever he fancied, from daring knights and monstrous dragons, to gritty crime novels set in dangerous cities. He’d imagined the fat armchair he’d place by the window, and the old-fashioned writing desk and a roaring fire. Maybe a couple of dogs: a bulldog and old English sheepdog. Arthur was pained to admit passing old antique shops and picking out which furniture he’d fill his little cottage with, like the dull teen he was at the time.

“Why didn’t you get that cottage?” Sir Arthur asked.

“I don’t have enough money.”

“Your real adult job can’t be that great then,” he commented. “If it was better than writing all day, as you say, it should pay trillions! You should have a mansion with a slide that's guarded by lions by now!”

“It’s safe.” Safe, but torturous.

“And writing is _so_ dangerous?” Sir Arthur raised an eyebrow, “yes of course! There’s always a chance you can be killed by a pen!”

“So I was always this sarcastic then?” Arthur shook his head.

“Don’t change the subject! You think I don’t know you’re scared? We’re the same person!” Sir Arthur poked him in the chest, hard.

“Yes, I’m scared, so what?” Arthur scowled, “you’re a little kid. What do you know of failure and poverty and things that can actually happen? That fear everyone will laugh at the work you put your heart and soul into.” Still, him dying a penniless laughing stock couldn’t have been any worse than what he had now, minus Sam, and his little brother back home.

“But what if they didn’t laugh?” Sir Arthur piped up, “what if they would've liked it?”

Arthur pulled his mouth tighter into a frown, trying his best not to look at the movement in the corner of his eye. “You don’t know that they would.”

“And you don’t know that they wouldn’t,” Sir Arthur gave a little shrug. “There’s still time, you know?”

Arthur scoffed. “I’m old and rusty. I haven’t written a thing in years!”

“Then practice.”

“I don’t have any imagination anymore.”

To Arthur’s surprise, his child self started laughing at that, throwing his little cardboard sword and shield to the floor.

“Oh come on,” he giggled, “you day-dreamed me up alright…”

“Yes, it’s so awfully hard to dream of myself. It’s not like it comes straight from my memory or anything.”

There was a pause before Sir Arthur spoke again, like he was unsure he wanted to reply.

“Hey, big me,” he began, “I don’t know how to tell you this, but we never used to steal our sister’s nightdress to make a tunic. That’s something you just imagined.”

“That just makes me a weirdo!”

“Darling, who’s there?” Sam fumbled with the room card and bounded in, taking a cloud of dirt with her that seemed to fill the room. The stuff was smudged onto her face and clothes, and there was straw in her hair and a swollen cut on her lip, but she was still beautiful to him.

“She’s purdy,” Sir Arthur commented, but Arthur ignored him.

“Oh, no one,” he told her.

Sam frowned. “Then who were you talking to?”

“Myself,” Arthur replied sincerely.

“Sounds like an interesting conversation,” Sam commented as she strolled further in, kicking off her boots and collapsing into an armchair in the corner.

“Oh, it’s absolutely riveting.”

Sam laughed. “See that’s what I like about you, Artie dude, you use words like ‘riveting’ that no one else uses. It’s... charming!”

“Oh?” Arthur shrugged, “never even noticed. Good day of practice dear?”

“Yeah, swell,” Sam laughed half-heartedly, “fell on my butt a few times. Mike almost got kicked in the face by the horse.”

“Sounds dangerous,” he told her, “is that why you seem a bit down?”

“Huh? Oh, nah.”

Arthur waited for her to continue, and when she didn’t he stood up and joined her on the chair, perching on the arm to give her a shoulder massage.

“So, erm, what’s on your mind?” He asked awkwardly. Even after all this time, he was still unused to being so close to someone. It would've made his skin crawl, had he not cared for Samantha Madison Jones so deeply.

Sam waved a hand, letting out a long sigh. “Ah you don’t wanna hear me whine about pointless shit.”

“Then why did I ask?”

“Well, if you want to know…” another pause as Sam seemed to be choosing her words carefully, a rarity for her and Arthur knew it must be something big. “I was thinking out in practice, well, it’s something I’ve been thinking about for years now. I love rodeo.”

“Well obviously.”

Sam laughed. “No I really like rodeo. It’s something I want to do all the time!”

“You do it a lot though,” Arthur commented.

“It’s not enough. I wanna be a rodeo cowgirl, professionally.”

“So what are you saying?”

Sam frowned. “I want to go touring, up and down the country. No more waitressing for me, just a trailer and the open road.”

“Well why don’t you?” Arthur suggested, almost hypocritically.

“I can’t be doing that on my own,” Sam shrugged, “I’d get lonely out there all by myself with no one to talk to. And if something went wrong, who would be there to help?”

Arthur gave a little wince. “Sounds like quite the conundrum.”

“I’d say it was more of a problem.”

Arthur sighed. “Well what about Mike?”

“Oh hell naw!” Sam’s face wrinkled up in disgust, “no way am I being stuck alone with that little ball of anger and puberty! I’d end up dumping him by the side of the road.”

Arthur laughed. “And I thought I had a low tolerance for people.”

“You do. You’d be pretty good alone on the road with me, y’know?”

“Oh I doubt it,” scoffed Arthur, “and what good would I be out there? Still, I’m sure you can find someone to go with you.”

“Hmph,” Sam rolled her eyes, much to Arthur’s confusion, “well I’m just being silly, don’t mind silly old me.”

“Not at all, don’t give up on your dreams,” he punched her arm lightly, “you go girl.”

Once more, he managed to bring a smile to Sam’s face. “Sure, honey. Look, I’m gonna go take a shower, you be good while I’m gone.”

“Aye aye madam,” he gave a salute as he watched her go, Sam giving the tiniest of waves before disappearing into the en suite. The moment the door was closed, Sir Arthur reappeared, arms and legs crossed and throwing his adult self a glare.

“Oy you’re actually an idiot,” he spat, “and you say your lady friend’s the one who can’t take hints.”

“I don’t know what you mean.” Arthur knew exactly what he meant, but he didn’t want to believe that was what Sam was hinting at. If it wasn’t, and he’d offered, he would’ve looked like a complete fool.

“Big me,” Sir Arthur raised an eyebrow, “I think you know exactly what to do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was actually heavily inspired by the song ‘Letter between a little boy’ by Abney Park. Have I ever mentioned how awesome their music is? Anyway…  
> Happy 1 year anniversary of this fic! I can’t believe I’ve been obsessed with cowboys for so long ha, and so have y'all! Still, thank you so, so much to everyone who’s supported this fic, the reviewers, commenters, fanartists, you’re all awesome! Every single person who checked this fic out means the world to me. Here’s to hopefully the last year of this, because I do plan on finishing this before next year.  
> Though if we’re only on chapter 12, that might not happen… dammit.


	13. Mark out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy fuck I want to finish this so badly. I just love this story and the characters and whilst I wouldn’t say the ending is near in any sense, it’s certainly nearer than a lot of my other stories which gives me extra motivation to finish, even if I keep adding shit to the plot.  
> Maybe if I finish this I'll have more time to divide between the other fics...

Matthew didn’t want to knock just yet.

He wasn’t even sure he wanted to do this at all, but Hunapo had been pretty… insistent. He suppressed a shudder; for someone so small, Haka Huna sure had a way of bending other people to their will, intimidating them, even, hidden beneath that sweet temperament. But deep down, he knew they were right, and he honestly wanted to make up with his brother, which he more or less had, and he really wanted to help Mike and get along with him, but he honestly hated trying to talk to the guy. Michael had been difficult to get through to lately, constantly angry and convinced he was right.

Matt understood now that he would never be convinced to pull out of the rodeo, and at long last he was starting to respect his brother’s career path, but the fact that Mike seemed to unaware of how his actions could lead to devastating consequences startled him. Honestly, if Mike had been less reckless, and more level-headed, Matt would not have fretted so much, but the boy was too much like Alfred to not worry him. Matthew tortured himself with the thought that Mike would go the same way, and he could see the boy lying in an arena, same position as Alfred, struggling to breathe, bleeding critically, dying before he’d really experienced life.

Matthew didn’t know how many more funerals he could take, and that space beneath the apple tree was getting crowded.

But maybe with his help, Mike could do it. Bareback bronc was next- his own best event- and after that there was nothing incredibly dangerous. As long as Mike didn’t fall off his horse and the pole bending or barrel racing, he should be fine for the rest of the event and Matthew could then breathe easy.

Until Sam competed in the bull riding, that is.

Matthew groaned, running a hand through his fine hair before jumping in the air as a voice behind startled him.

“Hey if you need Sam, she’s out training,” Mike raised an eyebrow as his brother wheeled around.

“Oh, hey there kid,” he began, “um, actually, it was you I wanted to see.”

Mike, Sam and Arthur shared a hotel room for economic reasons, and because Mike didn’t want to share with Matt. Matthew instead shared a room with Natalya, which wasn’t all that fun an experience, although neither really spent much time together there.

Mike’s eyebrows shot up. Daisy was darting around his ankles in an excited mess, yapping at the two.

“I want to give you advice,” Matt assured him.

That didn’t help much. “Depends on the advice. Because if you’re here to advise me to quit-”

“I’m not!”

“Okay man chill out,” Mike held his hands out before him, “just askin’ bro.”

“Can we talk in the restaurant? It’s nicer down there,” he paused, “unless you’ve already eaten, that is.”

That seemed to perk him up. “Nah, Sam made me run down to the store to get some stuff.”

“Isn’t that a half hour away?” Matt raised an eyebrow.

Mike shrugged, seemingly thinking about it for the first time. “I guess. But I can just jog. Get fit and all. Plus, gas is expensive.”

Or maybe, Matt suspected, Sam just needed the place to herself and Arthur for an hour or so. He wasn’t sure if Michael had caught on to his cousin’s intentions or not, but didn’t want to be the one to spoil his innocence.

“So, food then?” he offered instead.

“Hell yeah! You payin’?”

Matt's eye twitched, “Sure thing. Just don’t order a banquet.”

 

...

 

“I’m very impressed with your performance so far, in the arena, I mean,” Matthew began with some reluctance as Mike wolfed down a plate of grilled chicken and pasta, athlete food, as the brothers called it. Daisy was under the table, curled up asleep and only opening her eyes when Mike threw scraps of chicken down to her.

“Really?” the boy replied through a mouthful of dinner. “Well thanks bro!”

“You’re nearly as good as I was,” he joked.

“That’s one hell of a compliment,” said Mike, “cause, dude, I just wanted to be half as good as you. Better than everyone else, but not you.”

“Given that there are cowboys out there who are way better than me, that’s something of a paradox you’ve made for yourself.”

Mike chuckled, falling silent as he continued eating. Eventually, he looked up again, apprehensive.

“Y’know, Mattie, it’d be nice to compete with you again,” he mumbled, “I was really looking forward to it, growing up, entering competitions with you and Alf.”

“Mike, plea-”

“I mean, I know the three of us will never get to compete professionally together,” Mike added hurriedly, “but it'd be really fun to have you back in the game.”

“That’s not gonna happen,” Matthew said quietly, firmly.

“Are you-”

“Yes. Look, it’s not something I’m willing to get into. Please respect that, kid.”

“Fine,” Mike mumbled with a sulk, “I just miss the old times, when it was the three of us and mom, and Sam too. You know, on the farm.”

“It’s not good to live in the past,” Matt commented.

“Look who’s talking.”

At least Matt looked like he was trying not to smile.

“Remember that time we went camping at the edge of the farm, by the creek, and mom made this hamper full of snacks for us and we set up a campfire and told ghost stories,” Mike’s eyes shone through his shades as he spoke, “and we had this huge pile of blankets and pillows in the tent and Al had his banjo to play songs and he was teaching me ‘ring of fire’.”

“That was the best night ever,” Matt agreed, “I loved laying under the stars. Then Al had to storm back home in a strop because he got a bit spooked.”

“Maybe those ghost stories weren’t the best idea.”

Matt raised an eyebrow. “Well you liked them no problem, and you were only ten.”

“Still, we probably should’ve done the responsible thing and gone with him,” Mike commented, “he could’ve gotten lost or seriously hurt. No wonder Al got so pissy; his brothers are dickheads.”

“Yeah. It was nice with just you though, a bit more quiet and peaceful.”

“Hah, quiet, me,” Mike scoffed.

“You used to be lovely,” Matt told him, “um, well, I’m sure you still are. Just difficult sometimes.”

“Thanks,” Mike grunted.

“I miss the old you, I’ll admit.”

“What are you talking about? I’m still me.”

“That’s bullshit and you know it.”

Mike huffed, saying no more on the subject.

“Do you hate me?” he asked suddenly.

The question caused Matthew to choke on his pizza, and he sputtered and wheezed as he contemplated why the boy would say such a thing. He was red in the face as he stared at his little brother in horror, Michael seemingly taking his shock for a confirmation.

“Of course not!” he cried. “I might not agree with what you’re doing, but I’d never hate you for it! You’re still my baby brother, no matter what.”

Somehow, the answer didn’t seem to satisfy Mike. “Did you ever hate me? Like, before I was born and when I was little and stuff?”

Matt’s face crumpled, his silent reply all Mike needed. The pair didn’t speak, Matt glaring at the table and willing himself to say something- anything- that could help here. But as much as he considered himself a great tactician, this would be difficult, especially with such an ugly truth out in the open.

“I was angry,” he admitted, “I was a small child, too. Little kids get angry and say they hate stuff all the time. Hell, I told dad I hated him when he didn’t buy me this toy tractor one time.”

“Matt, be serious here.”

“I was angry though. I was supposed to be angry at mom but I didn’t want to be, so I took it out on you instead. What mom did wasn’t your fault, but yes, before I met you, I hated you. I stopped that the moment we met though. You’re hard to hate once people get to know you, kid.”

“Well I’m clearly not trying hard enough then,” Mike grinned briefly, “look, bro, answer me honestly, would things have been better if I’d never been born?”

“What the fuck?” Matt reeled back, “no way in hell! Look, mom would still have had that affair and been found out at some point, and after Al died I’d have no one besides dad. Not even Sam because we just wouldn’t be close because you being born was the reason mom got in touch with her sister again. Burying Alf and mom was painful as anything as it was without having to do it alone.”

Mike sighed. “I guess…”

“Look, little bro, what’s important now is that you’re here and real and matter to so many people. Accident or not, you should make the most of your life, rodeo or no rodeo.” He leaned over, resting a hand on Michael’s. “I for one am honoured to know you.”

“Yeah same to you,” Mike replied with a blush, turning back to his now empty plate to poke at the pile of onions painstakingly picked out of the pasta.

“Bro, I never wanted to ask mom this, and never got round to asking Alf, but, do you know who my dad is?” Mike looked up.

“Honestly, Mikey, I don’t know, I never met him and mom never said anything about the guy she was having the affair with,” Matthew replied, sincere.

“Oh, I understand,” the boy nodded, turning to the window and glaring outside. Well that was that. Matt didn’t know. Sam didn’t know. Either Aunt Abigail didn’t know or she was refusing to tell him anything, and the only people left to ask were dead. All he knew was that his old man didn’t want to know, didn’t want a kid or deal with stepsons, didn’t even want a real relationship with their mother. And he had the same genes as that dick.

“Hey, Mattie,” he began, “I’m not gonna ask you to get into rodeo again, but could you at least come back home? It’s lonely back there now and there’s nothing to do anymore. I’m thinking, with you home, we could get cattle again and go back to farming. Whaddya say?”

Matthew blinked, leaning back as he considered the idea. “Oh, that’s mighty kind of you to suggest. I’ll have to consider it though.”

“That’s cool. I just really don’t wanna get stuck on my own out there for months on end.” That kind of loneliness could drive a person mad.

 

…

 

Samantha chugged on a protein shake in the hotel garden. She knew her cousins were inside, probably in need of some privacy and time, and she herself just wanted a moment to reflect on life. Her hair was still damp from her shower, slowly drying in the evening sun and it was nice to smell clean after a long day and be in clothes not caked in dirt. Arthur was still in the shower in their suite, and no one else paid her any attention as she sat on a sun lounger admiring the sunset through her waterbugs.

Everything felt luxurious here, just what she’d worked for. Her clothes- booty jeans and a loose blouse- had been bought with money she’d grinded hard to win. This was all a product of her determination and ability, and she revelled in it. This was the life she wanted for all of time.

Shame it wasn’t completely hers just yet. Between competitions, she still had to go back to that small town near the farm and waste her life waitressing in that run-down diner no one bothered with besides the occasional lost traveller. That wasn’t the life she wanted for herself, but the fear of going it alone was too much.

That’s exactly what her mother did, though. Abigail Jones had no one when she fell pregnant, boyfriend gone as soon as he heard the news, no way to support herself now that rodeo was- temporarily- out of the question. Her only family- a sister- was too far away and busy with her own engagement that Abi didn’t want to be a burden on her.

So she did whatever odd jobs were going, that she as a pregnant woman could do without injuring her baby, and when little Samantha was born, she raised her baby girl alone, getting back into competing and encouraging her daughter when the child wanted to follow in her footsteps.

Sam remembered the rodeo fairs that were the staple of her childhood well. The excitement at seeing all the enormous, burly cowboys and bigger livestock was still clear in her mind, along with watching her mother compete in all the events.

And then, seventeen years ago, they moved out west to be with her aunt Hannah, recently divorced from her husband after finding out she was pregnant with another man’s child and alone with one son, another on the way.

Abigail had known what it was like to go it alone, and as much as she believed her sister was an idiot, among other things, she wanted to be there for her. So Sam grew up with two of her cousins, later joined by Matthew, and the four of them became an unstoppable team of overly-competitive knuckleheads, though at least Matt still had two brain cells not bashed into oblivion to rub together by the end of it all. Probably why he bailed when he did.

It was a disservice to her mother, this fear of the unknown, of failing. If Abigail could ride from place to place competing, with a small child in tow too, why couldn’t Samantha? Sam was no stranger to bumpy starts and penny-pinching- it was how she and her mother got through Sam’s childhood- but she couldn’t bring herself to do it.

It was a good thing her mother was back home on the farm, unable to hear what was going through her daughter’s mind. And Sam knew Michael was a weak excuse. The boy would be a man in two years; and Abigail was fine looking after him until then, and although she wanted to support him any way she could, he wasn’t a helpless child who needed her to be his new mother. Plus, if he and Matt continued talking and listening to each other, he wouldn’t be alone again.

Her plan of reuniting them was a hopeful success in this case, so who’s to say her other plans wouldn’t be?

“There you are, pet,” Arthur greeted hazily as he settled into the sun lounger next to her. His eyes were bright, focused but not entirely on her.

“Oh hey darling,” she chirped, “good shower?”

“Heavenly. How are you holding up?”

“A bit battered but alright. Exhausted too,” she threw him a wink, and revelled in the faint blush, slightly darker than his sunburn. “Having a nice relax though, and a think, feel free to join me it’s great!”

“You know I think I will,” Arthur observed the other people in the garden, from other couples also sunbathing to children shrieking as they jumped into the pool to that one creepy old guy who was either ogling him or Sam, and he wasn’t quite sure which was worse.

“Look,” he pulled his eyes away, back to Sam, who was radiant gold in the sunlight, “I’ve been thinking too. Can we talk?”

“Go right ahead honeybuns,” Sam took off her sunglasses to look him straight in the eye.

“Erm, well, I’ve been thinking, about what you said about wanting to do rodeo professionally.” Even the way Arthur said ‘rodeo’ sounded odd, uncharacteristic, like before they’d met he’d never uttered the word in his life and was still getting used to it.

“Oh that was just silly-talk,” Sam waved a hand. Arthur didn’t buy it for a second.

“Be that as it may,” he continued, “do you think you could manage it with someone else?”

“I could manage on my own if I wasn’t such a scaredy cat,” admitted Sam, “some company would be nice though.”

“Well, erm, you know how much I complain about my job-”

“Your coworkers, your boss, your office, your computer,” Sam grinned, “sometimes the highlight of my day is just hearing all the swear words you make up describing it all.”

Arthur blinked. “Really? That’s funny, because I’m thinking of packing it all in.”

“Well isn’t that just a case of deja vu right there. How many times have you said that now?”

“Too many to count,” he joked, “but seriously, I mean it this time.”

“Heard that too.”

Arthur gave a shrug. “Well, now I have an idea of what to do instead.”

“Oh you do now?” Sam sat up, setting her shake down, “tell all, sweetheart.”

So he did. “I think, if we both quit our jobs, withdrew our pensions and savings, we could start a new life together on the open road.”

“We-well,” Sam spluttered, “that’s one heck of a plan you have there, but I’m not sure it’ll work.”

“Sure it can!” Arthur sat bolt upright, arms flailing excitedly, “if we work together. Think about it, the two of us probably have enough between us to buy a trailer and everything you need, and you can enter all your rodeos, and I, well…”

“Yes?” Sam drew out the word, leaning forward.

“I can write,” Arthur whispered.

That stopped Sam in her tracks. Arthur had mentioned an interest in storytelling and creative writing numerous times before, hinting at his real passion with the bitterness and longing of a madman. Was he really suggesting he’d give up the job he hated to finally pursue his dream? And in doing so provide her with a means to pursue hers?

“I don’t know what to say,” she squeaked.

“Say yes,” Arthur begged, “please. I know there’s so much that can go wrong- trust me, I’ve thought of nothing else- but I honestly think we can do it. Even if I never publish anything, or we run into money issues, I’d rather that than what we have now.”

“Won’t you miss England?” Sam asked eventually.

“I will, but I’m sure my brother can manage without me,” he shrugged, “and I can always visit from time to time.”

Sam took a deep breath, knowing they should, realistically, take a few weeks to decide this and mull over the details and complications, but to hell with that! She was going to pull an Alfred and do her mother proud. “So we’re really doing this?” she breathed, and when Arthur nodded she squealed and pulled him into a hug, nearly suffocating the man.

“I’ll need some time to sort everything out on my end though,” Arthur explained, “immigration and the like. Plus I’ll have to quit my job. Genuinely looking forward to it!”

“Of course, hon.”

“Preferably before I get second thoughts too, or have a heart attack worrying.”

“It’s good to just go get it done,” Sam agreed, “like ripping a bandaid off. Because if not we’ll just keep making excuses to delay it all the time.”

Arthur nodded. “So, it’s not too soon then, us living together? That’s what I’ve been worrying about too.”

Sam laughed a ringing, melodic laugh, slapping Arthur on the back. “Oh come on, honeybuns, I know people who’ve gone and married in the time we’ve been together.”

“Right,” Arthur joined in with his own chortle, “I suppose I should leave tomorrow then. Well, I needed to anyway, but I’ll be back this time!”

“I’ll be waiting.”

“I’ll visit before the end of the tournament though,” he added, “then we can pick out a trailer together.”

            

...

 

“She’s good,” Hunapo noted as they and Oscar watched Charlie jump from her horse and bound over to the goat she’d roped, trying its legs together with the air of a professional, from a lifetime of studying her brothers. Once done, she threw her arms in the air and beamed at her fantastic score of exactly eight seconds.

Oscar half-heartedly clapped as she bowed to the families watching from being the paddock fence, wondering who would be the next in the family to end up as ashes and praying to a God he didn’t believe in it wouldn’t be her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Man I get too deep into giving the ocs made just for this fic [relatives, competitors etc.] their life stories and personalities like damn I should draw them all too. And it’s not just for them, but other fics too. Might have to go through and draw them all. Funny enough, the Cooper and Jones’ parents seem to change from fic to fic, but Hunapo has the same damn parents each fic loosely based off my auntie and uncle. I should probably draw their sisters too. They have two, right?  
> For some reason, though I can see Alfred talking all fast-paced and emotive, Sam to me seem more like a slow drawl-er with a more Southern accent. I also imagine her having some slight similarity to Jessie from huniepop. And having her call Arthur ‘honeybuns’ made me feel unclean for some reason.  
> Also I’m sorry to say the ending of this just got sadder. Nothing major has changed, I just decided to make it include 30% more arseholery. And that’s not a euphemism for anything. It also means that once again the ending has almost doubled in chapter length to fit all the sad.  
> And yeah, another filler backstory chapter, and a bit of side-plot. The action will devilishly pick up next chapter though, mwahaha.


	14. Flank strap

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fast updates are fast for once haha! I feel a little bad for neglecting other stories, since many are a WIP and would be really simple to finish, but this is so fun! And we’re back into the actual events, not just family and relationship drama.  
> I’ll probably update Cockroach Cabaret next, since that’s nearly done, but maybe after that I’ll come back to this.

Michael’s euphoria at winning not only the saddle bronc, but the bareback bronc too, had not subsided over the night, and as he sat in the stand ready to watch his cousin finish competing in the bareback bronc herself, he was still giddy and more than a little smug. First in both events? That was something to be proud of indeed! And now he was winning overall too, beating not only Cooper, but the other eight as well, and certainly living up to his brothers’ reputations- his whole family’s, for that matter. Still, there were three events to go, only two he’d actually be competing in, and so much could go wrong, slightly less than in the roughstock events, but he could still make a careless mistake and didn’t want to throw the party before he’d received the exam results, so to say.

He now had 25 points overall, with Oscar at 23 and the rest nowhere near close. The only person he really needed to worry about was the Australian, but right now he didn’t even care about him. All that mattered was that he’d done well and Matt was proud of him.

He would have time to be smug later, if all went to plan.

Matt was seated next to him, beer in a hand ready to cheer on Sam just like old times- in Alberta’s rodeos where he’d been legally able to drink from 18- and the brothers hadn’t had a single argument since Mike’s fight and that polava. Things were hopeful, and as well as hinging a lot of hope on his brother to return home, Michael couldn’t let the possibility of his brother taking up rodeo again go. Yes, he’d been firm about it, and Mike for one wasn’t going to bring up the conversation for a good while, but he knew. He knew Matthew loved competing as much as he did, that that itch must still be there, slowly emerging now he was surrounded by others moving forward and continuing with their passion for the sport. Even Sam’s news that she and Arthur- who had left for the airport earlier this morning- would soon be touring full time must’ve stirred some feelings of jealousy within the man.

Maybe even Sam’s performance now was having the same effect. 

Then again, the amount of complaining he’d done since yesterday might’ve put the older brother off again. He couldn’t help it though! Bareback bronc was by far the worst thing he had to go through here and as much as he loved the high, the come down after was rough. He was lucky nothing had been pulled or torn this time, and all he had to deal with was some sore muscles and a bruised bottom. Everything ached though, and he would be lying if he said he wasn’t somewhat looking forward to going home and spending the rest of the summer holidays resting in the garden with Daisy, his flowers and a nice, cold drink of whatever alcohol-free cocktail he had the imagination for.

Mike leaned forward, observing Sam as she climbed onto her horse for the last time. She looked exhausted, but on top of the world. He knew the feeling: fear, lust, adrenaline pulsing through his body when there was nothing else left inside to sustain him. Each bruise, each cut, it was worth the thrill of those eight seconds.

Next to Matt was Natalya once again, looking rather bored as usual. She wasn’t happy here, even through his own problems he could see that. He doubted she was even getting the closure she was after here.

At his feet, Daisy yawned before shifting in her half-sleep. He leaned down to stroke her head, thankful for her presence. Daisy was a comfort to him, and had been ever since he’d picked her up that day in the petting zoo. Something about a sleeping animal, breathing slowly against him was soothing, and without Daisy he’d probably be even more irritable by now. So thanks, Matt, for that one.

Sam gave the signal and the horse was released, leaping into the arena and kicking out in all directions. Her arm was in the air, wild and waving to her adoring fans, other hand gripping the rigging like a vice. She and the bronc danced across the dust as spectators whooped and cheered and gasped. Sam dipped down as the bronc kicked out its hind legs, swooping back up with a flourish before disappearing again. 

All too soon, the time was up as assistants guided her horse to a halt and she slipped off, bounding across the arena with a grin he could see from the stands. She climbed the railing and soon joined her fellow competitors, minus Hunapo, who was making their way over to the box for their last go.

The board flashed the results to the whole stadium; 81 points from the judges. Third place overall, not bad at all. Sam seemed happy with that, at least, but when he turned to Matt, he found the guy frowning, lips thin and pulled.

“What now?” he asked, rolling his eyes.

“Her footwork was a little sloppy,” Matt explained, “not awful, just not fantastic either. And she’s just too much like Alfred in the sense that she reeks of arrogance. Too busy looking the part only before and after she’s on the damn horse. Which is fine, if you’re keen to pave the way for silly mistakes and a trip to the hospital.”

Mike scoffed. Of course ‘Bareback Matt’ would have a problem with how everyone else competed. Even Mike himself hadn’t been spared a monologue of constructive criticism that he hated being thankful for. “Think you could do a better job?”

“Naturally.” His eyes twinkled.

“Well get that skinny sonovabitch ass down there and prove it,” he mumbled, arms folded and sulking.

 

…

 

Oscar’s arm still stung at the thought of bareback bronc.

He hated bronc events, not only were they the cause of his mother’s death- which in his eyes was the reason things ended up like this and every problem the family had could be traced back to that single event- but last year he’d broken his arm competing in this very event and gotten himself kicked out of the competition. 

His scar from the steer wrestling lay just above where the fracture had been, and as he rubbed the thing, he was just thankful that incident hadn’t damaged his arm again. That had been his main fear, as he lay kneeling in the dirt that day, that he’d be sent home again for a fracture, but thankfully the pain had been nowhere near as excruciating as it had been that time and he lived to compete another day. 

And for some reason, he’d managed to place third. Yes, Mike had now drawn ahead, but it was still all to play for, and he was just thankful he was able to sit in the stand and watch Hunapo with nothing to show for his effort but a cut on his cheek, a scabby knee and third place winnings.

Charlie slouched next to him, a tray of nachos balanced on her lap, and he envied how much she’d eaten over these few weeks, shovelling anything remotely appetizing into her face, losing the weight she’d gained competing in any event aimed at children. Oscar wonder how she hoped to fit all her medals and rosettes in her luggage, along with all the souveneers brought with her room in New Zealand in mind. Both his and her rooms had belonged to Hunapo’s little sisters and still didn’t have much of a personal touch yet, as cosy as they were.

Still, a nice big winning trophy would certainly help with his own room dilemma.

It wasn’t just the scar and break that were worrying him though; his other arm felt like it had been wrenched from its socket, and judging by the power of that horse he was on, it might very nearly have been. Oscar honestly didn’t know how much more of this he could take. He wasn’t built for these sports and it was sheer dumb luck and Hunapo’s training that had gotten him this far. He just wanted to win the damn thing, win back Logan’s reputation, then go back to figuring out what he wanted to do with his life because it damn well wouldn’t be this.

Or would it? Oscar had to admit his time here was fun. Exhausting, terrifying, but strangely fun, and the money wasn’t so bad since he was winning. Plus, it would mean spending time with his remaining family, earning his keep, and travelling like he was used to. He could get better, become a professional. Maybe just enter into the timed events though, and not attempt any world championships again. Unless he lost to that little Jones boy, then he’d have to come back next year, and every year until he won.

And Michael was supposed to be the obsessive one here.

He watched Hunapo climb onto their horse, face etched with grim determination underneath their hat, clutching the rigging with all the strength in their tiny body. The horse underneath them looked more than a little angry, and Oscar for one was glad he’d not drawn that particular beast, nicknamed ‘Widowmaker’ by the contestants.

It was probably weird to be proud of parental figures like he was the parent here, but Oscar’s chest swelled at the thought that Hunapo was first, despite fears from all sides and nearly safely finished. They had made it with flying colours and that was certainly a cause for celebration. Haka Huna’s kryptonite was this event, and they too had broken an arm in a fall in their youth, the first time they’d competed against Logan, funny enough.

Still, Oscar was worried for them. Hunapo wasn’t one for stupid risks, but this event was dangerous and as the gate to the chute was thrown open, he gripped the back of Charlie’s chair as brother and sister leaned forward to watch closer.

The bronc lept forward, carrying the mess of chaps, padded vest and a cowboy hat that was Hunapo. Leather and tassels flapped and flew as they moved their legs back and forth, giving the horse what appeared to be wings. With one arm raised above their head, Hunapo was on their back for most of it all, simply focusing on their legwork.

Even from where he was sitting, Oscar could see their fear, mouth pulled into a silent wail with eyes of glass, how they seemed too petrified to do little else but hold on but before his brain could come to the conclusion that they were trapped in a traumatic memory, they’d already been thrown.

Hunapo flew through the air like a ragdoll tossed aside in a tantrum. The bronc had kicked up and the force threw them to the other side of the arena. They didn’t even have time to react before they hit the floor legs-first with a crack that resounded through the Cooper children, and crumpled into a heap with a scream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Watch me not update this for months now that I’ve left it on a cliffhanger. Just kidding, though I hope to update something else now. This fic is just too fun though! I can’t stop writing and plotting for it! I wonder if anyone can guess how it’ll end.  
> Also, for some absurd reason, whenever I picture Hunapo being thrown from their horse, ‘hurt feelings’ by Flight of the Conchords plays in my head.  
> So, will Hunapo be okay? Or are they about to join their fiancé in the afterlife? Find out whenever the hell I get round to updating this. Which should hopefully be soon. Or not.


	15. Rank

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Madeline- Nyo Canada
> 
> ...
> 
> Was hoping to update this a bit sooner, but I’ve been doing askblog things. Not even sure what to say here. Sorry to New Zealand fans; I like this character I swear! They’re actually one of my favourites. I’m not sorry for the cliffhanger though as it did the job and appears to have upset some people. So here we are, at long last, the resolution to poor Hunapo’s accident. Warning for hospital things and graphic descriptions of injuries.  
> You know, if I focused on nothing else, I could get this fic done soon and be able to focus on other things more easily. Like my other sad as fuck fics!

_“Oh, and it looks like the Haka has been thrown from their horse! And, what’s this- they don’t appear to be getting up! I don’t like the look of this at all, everyone, they are not in a good condition in the slightest and there seem to be broken bones involved-”_

“Huna!” Oscar shot up, gripping Charlie’s hand as the siblings pushed past spectators jumping to their feet to get a better look, the stadium erupting into a barrage of noise and pure shock. Oscar drowned out the gasps and mumbles, people jostling others for a better view, and soon enough he’d pushed his way onto the steps, Charlie in tow. Hunapo was still in the dirt, tended to by medics with their leg at a sickening angle. They began descending the stairs, Matt reaching out to give his shoulder a comforting squeeze as the Cooper children clambered past, before following with Mike and Daisy.

Oscar ignored shouts to stay back, climbing over the railing, only stopping to pull Charlie over too before running across the arena as fast as he could.

“Huna!” he cried, “oh Huna!” He knelt down beside them, ignoring the sting in his knees as he crashed into the dirt. “Please, don’t die on me too! Not you, please!”

“I’m not dying, you twat,” Hunapo growled before crying out again, “my leg’s fucked but I’ll live.”

‘Fucked’ seemed the best way to describe Hunapo’s leg here. Oscar glanced down and gagged at the sight. Hunapo’s right thigh was mangled, leg clearly broken and darting off at an angle above the knee. It was a good few centimetres shorter than their left leg now, swelling considerably in their canvas trousers. The medics had removed their hat, the string of which had been tangled round their neck, and the thing was lying in a sorry looking lump next to its owner.

And this was just one injury. Oscar had no idea what else had been broken in the fall, though judging by Hunapo’s rattled breathing, something in their chest was damaged too. Not to mention the blood coming from their mouth as they coughed and struggled to talk.

“Stay back, young man,” barked one of the medics, “give Davies some room to breathe!”

“Right,” Oscar leaned back as Charlie joined him, clutching his shirt and wailing.

“Are you a relative?”

“Yes,” Oscar nodded. And he was, more or less.

“Oh God no,” Matt was there too, thankfully ordering his brother to stay in the spectator stands, and the sight of blood and Huna’s blueing face brought him to a rather grim conclusion. He stayed standing, but only just, knees buckling as he covered his mouth with his hands.

“I’m fine,” Huna snapped, “you don’t die from broken leg.”

“You can, actually,” he corrected, “but only by fluke, and an ambulance has been called though, so we’ll know the damage soon enough.”

Hunapo opened their mouth to protest, closing it again before their face screwed up in agony. They were scared, beneath it all, through the pain. Everyone could see it, even if proud Hunapo Davies didn’t want to admit such a thing. They reached out for Oscar, clutching his hand and trembling. “Does it really look that bad?” Their face had been drained of all colour, sickly grey like their clammy hands. Every word was a struggle, every sentence a goliath task to get out.

“Put it this way,” began Oscar, “Charlie’s going to fetch the screen whilst I get the shotgun.”

“You’re not funny, Cooper,” Hunapo growled, “come on, give me a real answer.”

“Your leg is messed up,” Oscar spat back, “you probably already know that. I can’t tell you anymore because I’m not a doctor!”

“You’re gonna be okay though,” Charlie mumbled through her tears, “we’ll get you to the hospital and you’ll get better. You’re not gonna die, please.”

 

…

 

The waiting room was a drab, grey place that reflected Oscar’s mood perfectly.

He scuffed his boots against the carpet in frustration, knowing full well that, just a few rooms down the corridor, his guardian was in unbearable pain, possibly dying. Oh, he was being silly, but could he really be blamed?

Charlie paced the room, reading the posters and bulletins on the various notice boards. Washing her hands with gel again. And again. And once more for good measure. She could barely sit still and was up and up again, reading over the same information about various conditions and hygiene.

Oscar just sat still in his little plastic chair, breathing heavily and trying to drown out the sounds of Charlie’s movements. His face was buried in his hands, breathing deeply and wondering if he would be sick. Next to him was Hunapo's cowboy hat, probably dirtier than was allowed in a hospital, but he wanted to take care of it for them.

It wasn’t like he was squeamish at all, but the sight of Hunapo’s mangled leg made his stomach churn and he didn’t know if he could even stand up without keeling over now.

The pair had been here an hour, drank as much coffee as they could take, even had a sandwich each from the cafe downstairs and right now they just wanted to know what was happening.

As Oscar just sat there, focusing on his breathing and trying not to think about things that might make him need to rush to the nearest bin, Matt showed up, stepping silently into the room and making his way over to sit next to Oscar.

“Hey,” he began, quieter than normal, “how are ya holding up?”

Oscar just groaned.

“I see. What’s the news with Hunapo?”

“I don’t know,” he sighed, “they’re being seen by a doctor, to assess the damage, and I haven’t heard anything since.”

“They’ll be okay,” Matt assured him, though Oscar didn’t buy it one bit.

“Do you have a ride home?” he asked instead, and Oscar shook his head. “Thought so. The car’s outside so we can go whenever you want.”

“I don’t want to leave,” mumbled Oscar.

“I’m not saying you should, I mean eventually. When we have news.”

Oscar gave the tiniest of nods but didn’t reply.

“Mike’s in the car though,” Matt added with a grimace, “and I’ve warned him to be on his best behaviour, but don’t you go looking for a fight either. I know things are a bit tense-”

“Yes, I know thanks,” Oscar stuck out his hand, “I’ll be good, I promise. Just let me think.” And he fell into silence once more, breath hard and thoughts heavy.

Oscar had to admit he was glad of Matt’s presence. Not only was the hotel miles away in the next town, but now an adult was here, he didn’t feel so tiny, terrified like the little child he was anymore. There was always an adult around when bad things happened, either his dad or Logan or Huna, and now they were all gone he knew he’d have to grow up, be Charlie’s rock and the responsible one, and he wasn’t sure he was ready.

He needed to speak to Hunapo. He needed to know how bad things were and when they were coming home.

They’d been doing so well too, set to place well, if not win the thing, and incredibly Sam was their only competition. It was always a Jones, huh?

“Mr Cooper,” a soft voice began. Oscar’s head shot up to find a young doctor in the doorway, strawberry blonde with twin ponytails and little oval glasses. She had a kind smile, and Oscar knew Hunapo was in good hands.

“Yes?” he began before Charlie interrupted, rushing over to grab at the Doctor’s skirt.

“Is Huna okay?” she blurted out, “are they dead? Please tell me they’re not dead!”

“Hey, don’t worry child,” the doctor cooed, “I’m actually here to tell you Davies’ condition was stabilized and they will be x-rayed soon. After that, surgery will begin if necessary, though I think that may be the case.”

“What’s the diagnosis?” asked Oscar, standing up and walking over. He held Charlie back, gently gripping her shoulder to give the doctor a bit of space.

“We cannot say for sure just yet; that’s what the scans will be for. We can say for sure Davies’ femur is broken, possibly a comminuted fracture-”

Both Oscar and Matt hissed, wincing at the thought.

“What does that mean, doctor-lady?” asked Charlie.

“Oh, please call me Madeline, child,” Madeline gave the girl a warm smile, “a comminuted fracture is where the bone is broken into three pieces or more.”

“Owie,” Charlie rubbed her thigh.

“In addition,” continued Madeline, “they have several broken ribs which should heal up soon enough. But like I said, scans and surgery are about to start so you may as well go home.”

“Can’t we see them?” begged Oscar, “even just quickly?”

“I don’t think that would be best, I’m afraid.”

“But I want to talk to them,” he pleaded, “just for a bit. What if I was the only person who visited? I’d be in and out before you knew!”

Before Madeline could reply, Charlie prodded at Oscar’s leg. “I want to see them too!”

“Yes but,” Oscar knelt down to look his sister in the eye, “Huna’s tired and probably a little scared. Too many people at once would be too much, and I just want to talk to them for two seconds.”

“But-”

“Please, Charlie, seeing them now will just upset you more,” he grimaced, “Huna’s not gonna be in the best condition now.”

“Okay.” Charlie let out a groan, resting her head on her brother’s chest, “but please tell them I said ‘love you and get better soon’.”

And so, Oscar followed Madeline out the door and down the corridor to a tiny room where Hunapo was being kept, door open and their grey face clear against a plain white backdrop. He tried not to make a sound as he entered, so as not to startle them for they looked so fragile, scared. Their tattoos were startlingly visible now, down the length of their arms and just poking through the neck of their papery hospital gown. Hunapo’s usually thick hair fell to their shoulders, flat and dull, and their dead eyes barely registered that he was there.

“How are you?” began Oscar, voice little more than a murmur. He stood beside them, taking their hand as gently as he could, like it was made of glass. The bruises covering them had blossomed like purple roses, a garden of pain.

“Could be better,” Hunapo admitted, “but I’m not dying just yet. The lady thinks I might have a pretty severe fracture though.”

“Yes I heard,” Oscar grimaced, “broken into three or more pieces. Not pretty. How did you manage that?”

Hunapo didn’t appreciate pity, people gushing at how bad they had it, treating them like a tiny child at every knock and bump, and for the most part Oscar was pretty keen to respect that. He couldn’t do pity that wasn’t aimed at himself anyway. He did feel sorry for Hunapo, but knew they wouldn’t want him to make that known, for the sake of their own dignity.

Hunapo shrugged to the best of their abilities. “No idea. Tried landing on my feet, I guess, and my leg just smashed.”

“At least it wasn’t your spine,” Oscar tried, “if the surgery goes well you’ll be back competing in a few months.”

“Glad to know.”

Oscar paused before speaking again. “Look, what do you want me and Charlie to do while you’re in here?”

“Be good, if you don’t mind.” Hunapo grinned up at him.

“That’s not what I meant,” Oscar sighed, “I just… do you really think I’m responsible enough to look after Charlie? I don’t want to worry you, but what would make you feel most rest-assured?”

“Not responsible? You?” Hunapo raised an eyebrow, “come on, Oscar. You’re more responsible than I am sometimes. I think you can take care of your sister for a few weeks.”

“I suppose, but,” he shifted uncomfortably, “I’ve never been the adult of the family and now I’m scared. Look, don’t mind me, just don’t go and die on me, okay?”

“Wasn’t planning to,” Hunapo replied weakly.

“Please,” Oscar squeezed their hand, every motion soft and careful, “what would we do without you?”

“I dread to think,” joked Hunapo, “still, practicalities. My wallet’s on the table. I should have enough to cover you for a few weeks. Don’t go apeshit though.” They threw Oscar a glare as he picked said wallet up off the bedside table. “I don’t want to be picked up in a Rolls Royce. Well, I would, but not one bought without my knowledge.”

“What sort of cretin to you take me for,” Oscar cried in mock-horror, “speaking of cars, Matt showed up with his so we’re alright for a ride home, if you were worried about that.”

“Oh that’s wonderful news,” Hunapo smiled warmly, “yes, I think Matthew would be good to turn to if you have any troubles, and I’m sure he’d be happy to help. But really, it’s just a few weeks by yourself.”

“I think we can manage.” Oscar still wasn’t sure, but he wasn’t about to curl up and cry to himself anymore.

“Good to hear. Sorry I will miss your other events.”

“Oh? Those?” Oscar scoffed, waving a hand, “c’mon, they’re the boring ones! It’ll be a breeze!”

“Mr Cooper,” Madeline was at the door again, “your sister and Mr Williams are waiting.”

“Right, yes, of course,” Oscar made to leave, briefly pausing to kiss Hunapo’s forehead and wish them luck before bounding out to rejoin the others.

Outside, down the lift, along busy corridors and past the receptionist’s desk, Matt’s car was waiting to bring them back to the hotel. Mike was inside, head nodding to the beat in his headphones. The moment he saw them though, the things were pulled off and he watched as Matt opened the door for the Coopers.

“Is Hunapo okay?” he asked.

“What do you think?” snapped Oscar, “yeah, they’re perfectly fine. No broken leg or anything.”

“I think what Michael meant,” Matt butted in, already strained, “is what did the doctor say.” He turned to his brother; “femur smashed to pieces, some cracked ribs. They’ll be in surgery as soon as possible.”

Mike winced, hand shooting towards his thigh. “Oh shit, sorry to hear that. Really, Oscar, Charlie, they’ll fucking pull through, right?”

“I don’t know,” Oscar admitted, “there could be complications. They might… the surgery could go wrong-”

“Hey don’t beat yourself up like that,” Mike turned to him as Matt started up the car, “a bit of surgery? Kill Haka Huna? Bullshit!”

Out of sight of the others, Matthew gave a little smile at that.

“No, you’re right,” Oscar breathed in and out, slowly, “thanks, Mikey.”

“Hey no problem dude,” Mike grinned, “can’t believe I’m the one with the level head here though.”

“It doesn’t count!” Oscar flushed a deep red, though he couldn’t help a smile too, “I was scared, still am.”

“Well I’m not exactly surprised, and if it was Mattie or Sam I’d be crying like a sonovabitch,” admitted Mike, “but come on, just think about when Huna gets better because damn they will!”

“He’s right you know,” Matt piped up, “I’m worried too, but Hunapo’s strong. They can get through this with your help.”

Oscar just sighed, stroking his sister’s hair. “Yes, of course. You’re right. They’ll pull through just fine.”

 

…

 

Matthew wasn’t going to be the one who broke the silence. He just focused on the road, knowing there were still a good few miles to go before they reached town and everyone was tired. Even him. The lonely highway was beautiful in the late afternoon, the setting sun throwing a rainbow across the sky, but for once he couldn’t bring himself to appreciate the splendor of rural Texas.

Hunapo had been a wake up call, and he cursed himself for needing yet another one. And to think Mike had almost succeeded in convincing him to give rodeo another shot. People died in this! People he’d loved and cared for were now lying underground after chasing the thrill of this and he hated himself because, after four years trying to suppress it, that urge to ride was still there, beckoning.

No matter how many people he was forced to watch die, the itch was still there. To feel the horse under him. To spin and jump across the arena, not knowing when he was going to go flying. That split second before the judges gave their scores. The thrill was just too much to throw away, and he’d tried looking for his kicks elsewhere- legal and slightly illegal- but it was never the same. No sports or drugs even came close to this for him.

Rodeo was calling him, louder and louder each day.

The Cooper siblings were slouched in the back of the car with Mike in the passenger seat next to Matt. Oscar was almost asleep now, looking utterly miserable whilst Charlie stared out the window. Mike was still wearing his headphones, but hadn’t turned on the music, lost in thought.

“Look, bro, d’you think it’s a good idea to compete in the other events?” Charlie began, “you know, after everything that happened.”

“What difference would it make?” Oscar asked in surprise, “it would not suddenly make Hunapo better, and if you’re worried about me, there’s only two events left and they’re rather safe.”

“People can get injured just riding a horse,” Charlie mumbled, “and I just want to go home now. Let’s take Huna and go home for a few months. You can re-enter next year.”

Oscar sighed. “I get where you’re coming from, I really do, but I don’t want to have to wait another year to get this over and done with.”

“Please,” Charlie begged, “let’s just go home.”

“I’ll consider it,” Oscar promised her, “I don’t see what the problem is, but we can talk to Huna about it tomorrow, okay? They’ll need to be in hospital for a few weeks though, so there won’t be any going home any time soon.”

“Oh. Well, thank you,” Charlie snuggled up closer, closing her eyes but before Oscar could go back to his own thoughts, he heard a tut, a scoff. He sat up, disturbing his sister as he gripped the back of Mike’s seat.

“Problem, Jones?” he growled.

“Oh not at all,” Mike grinned, “you dropping out would be great news for me, as I’m sure you know.”

“You’re not intimidated by how I’m doing, are you?” Oscar raised an eyebrow, “should’ve suspected.”

“Not intimidated no more now I’ve realised you’re an idiot,” Mike turned around in his seat, prizing Oscar’s hand off the chair with a little more force than necessary. A malicious prickle of delight filled his stomach as the sight of Oscar's stung face as he rubbed his hand, and the nail marks covering the side of it. “I mean, giving up now? Really? You have like two events to go and they’re a piece of piss. But yeah, go home little boy.”

“Mike,” Matt growled, “stop it.”

“Well if that’s how you feel, I’ll just have to finish then, if only to see you cry about it,” Oscar didn’t sound certain, but he wasn’t going to back down now. “It’ll be a shame when I beat you. Oh I wonder what I’ll spend my winnings on.”

“A nose job and a new set of teeth when I’m done with you!”

“Michael Joshua Jones!” Matt slammed the breaks and Mike went flying into the dashboard, groaning though he was uninjured.

“Ow what the fu-”

“I told you to behave,” Matt snapped, “both of you, but especially you, Mike. We’re all emotionally drained from this and you should have a bit of respect at times like these. What’s gotten into you?”

Mike could only shrug.

“Honestly,” Matt started up the car again, “look, I get nerves are frayed, but shame on you.”

“Alright, Jesus I’ll be quiet,” Mike rolled his eyes but the damage was done. Oscar glowered at the back of the boy’s head, revelling in the thought of finally beating him. He needed to win both events to do so, but he knew Mike’s weaknesses already, and his own strengths. The next to events relied on skill, timing, and were his favourites. Mike and his brute strength couldn’t help him here.

That boy was going to fall and fall hard.

 

…

 

Oscar fumbled with the keycard before throwing the door open and darting inside. He stumbled over to the sofa, grabbing Logan’s urn and clutching it to his chest. The tears were finally allowed to spill, and he sobbed into the colourful wood he gripped until the corners dug into his palms and bruised his skin.

“Huna got hurt, Logie,” he whined, “they got hurt bad and I don’t know what to do. I’m scared now.”

“Oscar?” Charlie stepped into the room cautiously, brows furrowed together as she observed her brother. “Oscar what are you..? Since when did you..? Oh, never mind.” She just closed the door and moved closer, crawling onto the sofa next to her brothers and curling up beside them.

The Cooper siblings sobbed and whimpered for hours, until Oscar fell silent and an angry thump on the wall from the neighbours forced Charlie to stay quiet too. They eventually moved to lay curled up together on the sofa, Oscar still clutching Logan tight against his chest.

Both children knew they were in for one long, lonely night, Oscar simply unable to sleep with the worry. There was nothing to fear, he told himself to no avail. Hunapo had a few fractures, he could visit them tomorrow and find out the damage. It wasn’t lethal. Hunapo wasn’t going to die. They weren’t. They weren’t. They...

What if Hunapo got an infection? Even if they didn’t die of it, they could still have to have their leg amputated. They’d never ride again! Hunapo would be left without their passion, their livelihood and the whole family would be in trouble. What if there was damage to their organs? Did they have a head injury? Would they even be the same again?

As night fell and the room grew dark- no one bothering to turn on the light- Charlie began to doze off as Oscar stared at the ceiling, absent-mindedly stroking her curly hair. He placed Logan back on the table and scooped her up, holding her tiny body close as she continued to breathe evenly, carrying her over to the bed. He curled up next to her, pulling the sheet over them, not caring that he was still in his shirt and jeans, just watching his sister sleep and clutching Hunapo’s pillow, burying his face in it.

He could almost kid himself they were still there, lying next to him with their earthly smell, mixed with fruity shower gel, probably saying something they thought was smart and reassuring, probably cracking a few jokes too. They would be glowing from their victory, both of them glad the worst was over for another few months.

But the truth of the matter was that Huna currently lay in hospital in a great deal of pain, and Oscar just didn’t know how to deal with it, become a grown up on his own and pull himself and Charlie together.

At some point in the early hours of the morning, he fell into a fitful sleep, plagued by visions of yet another funeral to attend, cry through, wonder how much more he could take.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh boy, it’s good to be back writing hospital things! Being a dick to the Oceanics just comes naturally at this point haha. Speaking of which, I should probably get back to Just Kids at some point. That’s my main fic but the next chapter’s just not coming to me. I only have a page so far… Again, maybe finishing this will help. Oh man I can’t wait for that!  
> And yeah, no this isn’t the end, or that big tragic thing I was talking about. Look, I’m doing an ‘of mice and men’ here and shit’s just gonna escalate. I have a whopping six pages of synopsis written down and, although those notes are particularly detailed, there aren’t so many chapters themselves, and it should all be easy to get through, that’s still a fair bit to go. There’s still more rodeo, more angst, more romance, more sad backstory, and a whole lot more pain. Stay tuned for it all! Please?  
> Please?


	16. Bedside manner

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> God fucking dammit. I don’t know what happened, as usual. I’m sorry and I’ll try not to slack on this any more. Whenever I did get round to working on this chapter, I found it very fun to write. It’s nice writing happy OzNZ for once, shame I don’t have that many opportunities to do so because I’m a horrible person.  
> But really, I should be writing more cheerful OzNZ. These two have some great banter together and really gel well. I like writing their different senses of humour and their little quips and comebacks.

_A number of years earlier_

 

…

 

Well, this sucked.

Hunapo huffed and scowled at the cast on their arm, with little else to do whilst waiting for the physiotherapist to show them how to exercise their busted shoulder back to health. The thing still ached, and had done all night as they lay awake until their exhaustion outweighed the pain. Before now, all Hunapo had broken was a few fingers, ribs, and their foot one time. All those thing had been horrible, no mistake made, but this was a new level of pure unbearable suffering.

Still, at least they’d be gone in an hour, give themselves a few days to get used to their injuries, and then be on a plane home to tend to their wounded pride.

Maybe they would have to compete in another Australian rodeo after all, because this was one shoddy debut and they knew Logan would never let them live it down if they stayed in contact. Which they might on his insistence. Oh they’d have to come back alright, and kick his sorry butt. It was his fault they were here, in a way. It had been Hunapo’s determination to place ahead of Cooper that had lead to them taking more and more risks, and now here they were with a plate fitted under their skin to keep their collar bone in place. That hadn’t been the plan at all.

“I guess I win after all,” an all too familiar voice interrupted their thoughts, and Hunapo’s head snapped to the side to glare at Logan Cooper, an action they immediately regretted. They winced, bringing their free hand to their shoulder and Logan looked horrified as he rushed forward, awkwardly standing over them, unsure of how he could help.

“I’m fine,” they hissed.

“You don’t look it,” he commented. Hunapo scowled up at him, only succeeding in a wounded pout that put a silly grin back on Logan’s face.

“Hey come on,” he cooed, “I’m not here to gloat. Much. I just wanted to see how you were!”

“I’m fine,“ Huna spat.

“Don’t look it.”

Yes, that had already been established.

“Don’t you have anywhere better to be?”

“Not really.” Logan- gently as he could- plopped down on the bed at Hunapo’s waist, much to their irritation. “Hey come on, I only wanted to wish you well and give you some little things to help you along the way.

“Is it strong liquor?” asked Hunapo hopefully, “because I guess you can stay a while.”

“Afraid not, just a little token of my respect for you.” He tossed a homemade booklet onto Hunapo’s lap. “No one else has ever rattled me as much as you have. Congratulations, Davies. I’ve never met a cow… person quite like you.”

“Well aren’t you a sweetie, deep down;” Hunapo picked up the booklet, trying their best not to cringe at the crayon colouring front cover, bearing the words ‘Logan Cooper’s Bonza book of vouchers’ with ‘vouchers’ spelt incorrectly. They weren’t sure they wanted to know what was inside.

“Well, um, let’s take a look, shall we?” They opened it to the first page. ‘I round of drinks bought for by Logan Cooper’. Not bad so far. The second page, however, was far less pleasant: ‘one free guidance session on why fucking sheep is morally wrong’.

“Fuck you.”

After a spiel of ugly laughter that left him blue in the face, from which they worried the man might never recover from, Logan placed a hand on their thigh. “We can get through this together. It’ll be tough, but I know you can overcome your addiction.”

“Eat a cock. Covered in syphilis.”

“Keep reading.”

So Hunapo turned the page again. ‘One jiggle of Logan Cooper’s beautiful man tits’. Okay, they could get on board with that. The next five pages contained the exact same words, their face flushing darker at each turn.

“Don’t think I haven’t caught you staring,” Logan commented, wiggling his chest, “not that I mind.”

Hunapo’s face was almost purple at this point. “I- I well… I was just… enjoying the view.”

“Well without those vouchers, you can only look not touch.”

“I’ll be sure to cash in on these once I’m discharged,” said Hunapo, refusing to look at the other.

“When are you getting discharged? Because I can always pick you up and help out. You know, if you don’t mind a caravan and some kids tagging along.” Logan waved a hand airily as he said that, trying his best to look nonchalant.

“Oh, later today, an hour or so. I’d really appreciate a lift though.”

“I can hang around,” Logan threw them a wink, “feel free to cash in on as many of those on the way back as you want.”

“That can go from a good time to a lawsuit, depending on what the hell you put in here.” Hunapo turned the page to find ‘one Aussie kiss from Logan Cooper’.

“And an ‘Aussie kiss’ is..?”

“A French kiss but down un-”

“Yeah I could report you for sexual harassment.”

“Oh come on! I just wanted to cheer you up.” He folded his arms, putting on the silliest of pouts before snatching back the booklet.

“Hey!”

“To be honest, you’re not gonna like what’s in the rest of the book if you’re drawing the line here.”

“Now I’m curious, come on. And don’t let the plate fool you; my skin’s thicker than you think. Besides, you’re just messing about trying to cheer me up, right?”

Logan didn’t reply.

“What? You’re just joking about, right?” Hunapo reached out with their good arm, but Logan held the booklet away, face emotionless.

“Right?”

“Yeah, maybe… nah,” Logan shifted uncomfortably.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Nothing.”

“Oh come on, I'm not gonna judge. What did you mean?”

Logan didn't reply immediately. “Okay, I guess I might like you. A bit. A lot. You’re hot, and really fun to be around.”

Oh.

Hunapo didn’t know what to say. Was this real? The silver lining in a cloud of misery and awful, and they didn’t have to be the one to make the first move? This was a dream come true. A few dreams come true, they noted with some embarrassment. Okay, they’d thought about Cooper in ways that he’d apparently thought about them too, but what could they both do now? Well, first things, first, the truth was in order. “If it’s any consolation,” they began, “I feel exactly the same.”

“Really?” His face lit up at that.

“Yeah, and, man I’d be on you like a rash if this was any other time, but Logie, I’m going home in a few days, back to Kiwi Land, back to the Shire.” Their laugh did nothing to prevent the look of disappointment on Logan Cooper’s face, something they had no idea would pain them so much. The man’s hurt puppy look was almost as torturous as their broken shoulder. Almost. They wished he would stop.

“So this is it then?” Logan’s frown deepened to a frog-like monstrosity, coupled rather hilariously with his large, shining eyes.

“I don’t see why it should be,” Hunapo began, “I mean, I plan to come back next year.”

“But you said-”

“I’m not leaving things on such a shit note,” they growled, “I believe you still need your arse kicked.”

“There’s a voucher in here for that too,” Logan winked, tossing that silly booklet back onto their lap; “save these for next time you’re in town, okay?”

“Hey old timer.“

The soft, melodic voice of Oscar brought them out of their thoughts, much like his brother had years before. It was always a damn Cooper who came to greet them in hospital, Hunapo realised, to their irritation, whenever that were competing internationally and their family were too far away to visit. It pained them to admit, but Logan and Oscar made good company, and they loved having the two guys they cared for the most by their side during these times.

Well, it was only the one guy now, but they still appreciated his company.

“Oh, morning Oscar,” they croaked.

They could tell he was uncomfortable, and they didn’t blame him. Mirror’s were not needed to know they were a sight not for the faint of heart or stomach. Hunapo stared miserably down at the bruises on their arms, more just visible under their hospital gown especially over their ribs, and the cast running down the whole right leg and around their waist, uncomfortable and irritating and oh so sore. Even their broken collarbone was nothing compared to this, and all the painkillers pumped into them still weren’t quite enough. They were incredibly calm now though, thankfully as they weren’t sure how they could deal with anyone under these circumstances.

“How are you feeling?”

“Shit. Like I’ve been trampled,” they rasped, “oh, and I’m high off my tits on drugs so if I talk rubbish, just ignore me.”

“But you do that already,” Oscar exclaimed innocently, “how will I know the difference?”

“Cheeky little,” Hunapo’s yawn fractured their insult, “shitbag. Piss off Logan.”

The boy's face fell.

“Do you want me to leave?” asked Oscar, “you know, to give you some peace and quiet.”

“No, no, I think I can manage”

“So you’re not going to fall asleep on me?”

“Oh I cannot guarantee that I cannot do oh I'm talking shit.”

“Well, I’ll be quick. What’s the full damage and how long will you be in here?”

“Blunt. I’ve got some broken ribs and a cracked hipbone, as you know, which should heal fine. It’s the leg that will take ages to heal. Stupid thing.”

“It’s broken clean in two,” Oscar commented, “I knew that much by looking.”

“I needed a rod down the middle of the bone,” Hunapo told him, “in my big operation, to keep it in place and let’s just say if I wasn’t on painkillers, I’d be in a world of hurt.”

The noise Oscar made at that, and the wince, well, Hunapo couldn’t really blame him. They’d nearly passed out at the news. There would be no quick session with a physiotherapist, no one night in hospital. They were in this for the long run, weeks in this place, their insurance all but drained, and months in a wheelchair being rehabilitated. And all the while, Oscar and Charlie would have to fend for themselves in a strange country, look after themselves and, in Oscar’s case, train and compete without their guiding hand. Hunapo was almost certain he could rise to the challenge. Almost.

They’d all have to be careful, because injuries sure were expensive in this part of the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have somehow turned APH Australia into the perverted sloth. Sorry for that.  
> I’d jiggle his man titties though.


	17. Standings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look, I’m writing this. It’s getting done. Be proud of me haha.

Mike couldn’t bring himself to do anything but glare at the hotel room door.

He didn’t want to do this. The next few minutes would be entirely against his will, but he couldn’t take any more of Matt’s passive-aggressive little jabs. The snide remarks that let him know how disappointed his brother was in his behaviour, that sunk in far deeper than the initial telling-off in the car he’d recieved the moment the Coopers had disappeared into the hotel. He didn’t know how much more they’d be able to put up with each other, and right now he didn’t want to get into yet another fight with his own blood. Not again. They both agreed, separately, that too much bad blood had been spilt between them and it was time to man up, grow up, and move on.

He supposed Matt was right. He’d been callous, downright cruel, even, but he didn’t want to show anymore weakness in front of Cooper, even if that weakness was simply admitting he was wrong. That boy now knew his deepest secrets, his worries, his fears, weapons of humiliation that could so easily slip out in conversations with their fellow competitors.

_But he’d promised, right?_

Not to mention Mike had dirt on him too. If Oscar tried anything, Mike would retaliate with just as much force, they both knew and agreed to those terms, after all.

But, in a strange way, he trusted Oscar. The boy came across as rather two-faced and smug, but seemed to know how to keep a secret, and a promise. He liked that in a person, not least a rival.

But he didn’t want to give himself another reason to trust some silly gut instinct that the Cooper boy was a decent human being. He wanted to hate Oscar, if he was honest, and that would be so much easier if Oscar was a genuinely bad person.

But he wasn’t.

They just didn’t get along under the circumstances of their situation. Maybe if they both weren’t so determined to win- for what were clearly raw, personal reasons- and the rivalry between them was nonexistent, then they might have been friends. After all, those few times they’d tried striking up a friendship in the past had worked rather well, until their pettiness caught up with them.

He’d mentioned this to Matt, who had been rather intrigued with the theory and inclined to agree, adding that it was a damn shame two nice young men couldn’t have met under less emotionally-charged circumstances. The older brother was also inclined to blame the boiling, stuffy weather. Since they’d been raised in a desert, Mike dismissed the idea, telling Matt he’d just spent too long being boring and cold up in Canada. That had lightened the mood somewhat, but Mike, and Matt, still felt the need to apologise to Oscar.

Apologies were difficult for him, always had been. He didn’t like admitting he’d messed up, even as a kid. He’d always tried to blag his mistakes out, make up excuses, never trying to shift the blame onto someone else though. What could he say? He had a highly strung streak streaking through his body. It had been worse these past few years, since retreating behind his little cocoon of standoffishness, his walls simply not allowing for admission of wrongdoings. And yet that was the time when his actions often made sure he needed to dish out statements that he was sorry, for his language, rudeness, bluntness, just ask Sam.

With the same steely determination that had gotten him through far worse before, Mike held his chin high and rapped on the door.

Muffled, one-sided conversation he’d not even registered taking place stilled, and within a few moments the door opened and he was greeted by Oscar, hair neat, pyjamas neat, but somehow managing to look the face of death. Mike didn’t know if he was elated or horrified at the sight.

“Oh,” the older boy greeted, “this is a surprise, dare I ask if I should expect it to be a pleasant one?” His eyes were sunken under the weight of the black bags hanging from them, red and puffy.

“I, err...” unsure of how to respond, Mike chanced a glance in their hotel room, lit by a solitary lamp in the corner and containing a sleeping Charlie snuggled up in one of the two single beds the room contained, mouth pinched into a frown.

“Who were you talking to?” he asked, wondering why he felt the need to start the conversation like this. Procrastination, probably.

“No one,” Oscar replied quickly.

“Oh, well, I thought I heard you talking...”

“My brother,” Oscar admitted, “um, his urn. I was just updating him on… well, Huna.”

 _Oh_. “I get it.” He’d spent hours himself talking to his brother when he was alone in the garden. Alfred, that is. “Yeah, he’d want to know.”

Oscar narrowed his eyes for a moment, as if to detect any hint of sarcasm in the other’s words. Finding none, he decided to change the subject.

“So to what do I owe this pleasure?”

How could he even talk like that in this state? Mike could barely string a sentence together when he was as tired as the other looked and his preferred means of communication was grunts and rude gestures.

“Look, I wanna talk for a bit. Erm, somewhere else. In private.” Why couldn’t have just said sorry and left it at that? He’d be gone within seconds and not have to deal with Cooper again for a few days. But maybe he wanted to deal with Cooper. At the very least, he didn’t like seeing anyone in this state. Maybe he could help?

Oscar raised an eyebrow at that. “I see. May I enquire as to the nature of your invitation?”

Did the guy even speak English? Because Mike was having trouble keeping up. “I just wanna have a little talk. Nothing too fancy.”

Still quite clearly apprehensive, Oscar nodded and ducked back into his room.

“Fine, but give me a moment,” he whispered, snatching up his jacket, phone and hotel keycard. As he made to leave, he switched off the bedside lamp and let his sister sleep undisturbed, creeping out and shutting the door carefully.

“Where did you have in mind?” he asked.

“Just the garden, by the pool and stuff.”

“Sounds nice.”

Mike couldn’t tell if that was sarcasm.

He didn’t bother trying to make conversation as they walked along seemingly endless corridors, not wanting to disturb anyone just in case there was some tired bastard already asleep by nine thirty. No one bothered them as they walked through the lobby, the only sounds being from the distant bars, and there was no one outside by the pool either as they snuck out. The sun had long gone down and their only illumination was the floor lights surrounding the pool and the lights of the hotel itself.

“How did you find my room?” Oscar eventually asked, sinking down into one of the sun loungers and stuffing his hands in his jacket.

“Sam told me. I ain’t a stalker no worries.” He sat down on the sun lounger next to him, lying on his back as if he could possibly get a tan in the middle of the night.

“I didn’t think you were. I do now though.”

“Oh. Well, look. I just wanted to say sorry for yesterday and all. I was a colossal bag of dicks.”

“I cannot argue with you there,” Oscar agreed, “but I accept your apology nonetheless. Emotions were high and I believe that is something you, Charlie, Matthew and I could agree on.”

“Yeah I guess.”

“I did not know Hunapo was such an important part of your life though.”

Mike glanced at him in confusion. “Huh?”

“I mean, to cause that much emotional devastation at seeing them injured.”

“Well it’s never pretty,” he muttered, “but, I guess… ah I was jealous too, okay? Just a little.”

“Of Hunapo? Quite the masochist, aren’t you?”

“Wait what? Fuck no! I meant of you and Charlie!”

“I’m not following.”

Mike groaned. “Look, your relationship with Charlie. The fact that you’re still close. I wish I had that with Matt.” That was more than he wished to confess, but he also didn’t want the other to think he was just a prick. He still needed the moral high ground, after all, along with every other sign of superiority.

“Oh, I see.” Oscar awkwardly avoided his gaze. “Are things not improving between you two?”

“Sorta. It could be better but it ain’t three years ago, or even last year, you get what I’m sayin’? Sure, I’d like to be friends with him again, but what we have now is a damn sight better than getting into a fist fight at our own mother’s funeral.”

Oscar whipped a hand up to cover his gaping mouth. “You didn’t?”

“Matt’s literally the only direct family I got left, and I clocked him square in the nose as we were burying our mother. Aunt Abigail actually burst into tears and Sam had to break us apart.”

“I see what you mean now.”

Mike squirmed under the other’s gaze, feeling almost as small as he did at the time.

“I really regret it,” he added with a hurry, “Matt does too. But things are getting better. Sorta. It’s like us, really, just up and down all the time.”

“Hopefully mostly up now though, right?”

“Well we were, until yesterday; now he’s so freaking disappointed in me. He’s the one who made me apologize and everything.”

Oscar, who had been admiring the reflection of the lights dancing across the water, snapped his head up to glare at the other. “Excuse me?”

Now he’d gone and done it. Well, Mike hadn’t exactly lied there, but it wasn’t a truth he wanted known. “Oh fuck, I-”

“So you didn’t mean it? You just wanted to be off the hook with your bro-”

“I meant it!” he cried. “I fucking meant it!”

“Oh piss off.” Oscar shot up and made to storm towards the hotel entrance in a melodramatic huff, but unfortunately for him, that didn’t happen as Mike lunged forward to grab his wrist and pull him back. He snatched his hand away in disgust.

“Look, yeah Mattie made me, but I did want to too. My pride, and shit, it got in the way.”

That didn’t look like it had convinced Oscar in the slightest.

“I’m dead serious here! I was a shithead and damn well knew it.”

Oscar glanced towards the door, but made no attempt to move. “I don’t know...”

“Please believe I’m sorry. I don’t want us to hate each other anymore.”

“It is rather exhausting,” Oscar agreed with a small smile. “Fine, I re-accept your apology.” This time, however, he did not return to his seat, but rather ambled towards the poolside, rolling up his pyjama legs and sitting with his feet dangling into the water.

“It’s lovely and cool,” he called, which Mike took to be an invitation. So he did the same, though jeans were significantly harder to roll up than soft cotton. It turned out Oscar was right. The air was still warm and rather muggy, so the water worked wonders for cooling his lower legs. Not that it helped the rest of him much.

Mike hated this kind of weather. Not hot summer sunshine, but that humid, airless mess that always came before a thunderstorm and gave him terrible migraines. And this would be a fairly big one, judging by the pain in his head. He wished the stupid storm would just hurry up already, although preferably not on a day there was an event, as it would be tricky to steer a horse through thick mud.

Maybe that was why he’d been so cranky as of late. And even why he and Oscar were always so short-tempered with each other. The weather.

“So how is Huna getting along?” he began.

“They probably feel better than they look, thanks to all the morphine they’ve been given,” Oscar told him, “but they just… they’re still there but they look so small now. Fragile, even. I’m sure if I could just have a proper conversation with them I’d feel better but they’re just tired and high.”

“Sounds like Matt when he was younger,” Mike commented. “Look, shit takes time. Huna broke their fucking femur and there ain’t no magic spell to fix that in an instant. Give them time. They’ll be back to normal and healed soon enough.”

“I suppose…” Oscar gave a sigh, a little more dramatic than necessary, complete with hair flip. “Limbs do take a while to heal.”

“Yeah, I broke my arm once after falling off a horse. Hurt like a sonovabitch.”

“Me too!” cried Oscar, bringing a hand to his chest, “oh it is simply the worst!”

“Eh, not the worst place to break a bone,” Mike shuddered, “but yeah it sucks. Never broken a leg before though.”

Oscar shivered, giving a nod.

Deciding that particular conversation was done and dusted, and unable to find a new topic, Mike turned his attention to his feet in the water, startlingly pale in the dim light. It was so beautiful out here, peaceful, serene, and he wasn’t in the worst company. He glanced over at Oscar, who somehow looked worse in this light, and he had to revel in being the better-looking of the two just this once, not that he could honestly blame the other for being in such a state.

_And he was still beautiful._

Mike wanted to beat up his brain for just thinking that.

Hopeful that the other couldn’t see his blush, he began removing his shirt, having found the perfect distraction.

“Say, Cooper, ever done anything reckless?”

Upon reflection, probably not the smartest thing to say when stripping.

Oscar moved away ever so slightly. “Besides competing in one of the most dangerous sports in the world? Nothing, really.”

“Well would you like to be reckless?” He was just digging himself into a bigger hole, wasn’t he? Also, once again not the best choice of words.

“Mr Jones, are you trying to seduce me?”

“What the fuck no! Look, do you wanna go for a swim? It’s hot like Satan’s asshole out here!” For some inexplicable reason, that did not make matters any better, and Mike honestly didn’t know what he’d done wrong this time.

“But the pool’s closed,” hissed Oscar; “you need a lifeguard watching for it to actually be safe.”

“Just… don’t fucking drown, okay?” Mike shook his head. “It’s not that big a deal. We won’t get caught, promise.”

Oscar squirmed at the thought, and Mike wanted to strangle him there and then. “Man, don’t you know how to live?” He pulled down his jeans and leapt into the pool, revelling in the cooling sensation that surrounded him, soothing his skin and softening his greasy hair. Pure fucking bliss. He swam a length of the pool before even bothering to resurface and deal with his whiny companion, breaking the surface with a crash and soaking the other as he shook excess water from his hair.

“Get out!” Oscar shrieked, “you’ll be seen!”

“Only if you keep shouting like that,” growled Mike, “just get in.”

“And get my pyjamas wet?”

“Take them off, stupid.”

“I beg your pardon?” Once again, Oscar looked like he was strongly considering storming back inside.

“Well, keep your pants on. You can change them when you get back to your room. Come on, it’s really nice in here!”

“If you say so...” slowly as he could, Oscar peeled away his jacket and pyjama shirt to reveal a toned, tanned, torso, much like Mike’s own, but far slimmer, and without the pudgy belly.

“Do you mind?” Oscar snapped, still sitting on the edge with a glare that could cut through a block of lead.

“You’re staring too,” Mike mumbled, pretending to cover his nipples in the hopes that it would lighten the mood. It did.

“Silly boy,” Oscar shook his head as he sank into the water, shuddering at the cold. He sank down to his neck, pushing forward gracefully as he began to swim.

“Don’t wanna get your hair wet?” asked Mike.

“Splash me and I will end you,” the other snapped, in a way that made Mike want to duck his entire head under just to show him.

“Fine,” he muttered instead, raising his hands above his head, “wanna race?”

Oscar flashed him a devilish grin. “Sure thing,” he cried as he pushed the other over and darted off.

“Hey that’s not fair, you dickbag smegma dumpster!” Losing yet more precious seconds thinking of insults, Mike dived after him, splashing out wildly like a dying fish but it was not enough to claw back a victory. Fucking Cooper!

“You cheating motherfucker there’s no way that counted!” He pointed a finger right between the other’s gorgeous eyes as he said that. Wait, not gorgeous. Not at all! Fuck.

“Keep your voice down, will you,” Oscar replied smugly, “you’ll blow our cover.”

“Fine, fuck’s sake;” Mike shoved him lightly, “fucking weenie.”

“Bloody seppo.”

“Dickmuncher.”

Oscar collapsed into laughter.

“This is getting ridiculous,” he sighed.

“Mmm...”

“I do feel better though,” admitted Oscar, “not just less stuffy, but, you know, you took my mind off… life for a bit. Thank you.”

“Hey no problem buddy,” Mike just let himself float, bobbing up and down on his back. It was so damn peaceful here he could just lose himself, forget everything and everyone pissing him off and just exist in tranquility for a while.

“Oh, did you ever change your mind about pulling out?”

It had been a simple, fleeting thought, said without dwelling on it, but with those few words, the mood turned sour once more.

“No,” Oscar growled, on the defensive once again, “why would I?”

“I was just wonder-”

“Well it’s not your business,” he snapped, “but I’m still a threat, if that’s what you mean.”

“It wasn’t. Fucking hell I was just asking, grumpy-panties.”

Oscar sighed, shoulders slumping. “Look, it’s late. I should probably get going. Thanks, I suppose.”

Mike could only watch as he climbed out of the pool and disappeared into the night, too stunned to say another word.


	18. Rough stock

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What the fuck is this progress? An update literally a day after the last one? I feel so proud. And yeah, we’re back on the sad OzNZ sorry. The actual rodeo plot will pick up next chapter, with the penultimate event. Christ when was the last time I wrote some action for this?  
> But seriously, I can almost taste the ending to this, even if I’m only about halfway through at the worst.  
> Anyway, hope you all enjoy this chapter and are still interested in this. I know these are a lot of chapters to read and a lot have probably stopped over the past year, so if you’re still reading this, thank you so much for using your free time to read sad, homoerotic, cowboy fanfiction of a pairing that have like one line of dialogue together that was just one insulting the other. It really means a lot to me.  
> Also this chapter was strongly inspired by Garth Brooks' 'the Dance'.

The blips and bleeps of the machines made sure they couldn’t drift off to sleep peacefully, along with the wires and needles snaking in and out of their body and the dull throb of their leg. Even with all the painkillers that could possibly be pumped into such a tiny individual, Hunapo struggled to breathe through their broken ribs.

But whilst their condition would not let them sleep, it couldn’t let them remain entirely awake either.

The misery of their situation brought back memories, played before their eyes in a jumble of grotesque film reels, sure to drive them over the edge of madness.

Hunapo feared they would be sick at the thought.

Logan had looked sick when they first caught him with the pills, his eyes wide and face green, leaning over the sink, twitching as if considering running away. The bottle had been there in his hands, impossible to hide once they’d seen it. But why? Logan was a reckless idiot, but the steroids had been an act of pure insanity. They told him he’d be caught stupidly quickly. And then what? A ban? Jail time? They’d been right on both counts. Even mentioning Logan’s kids- and what would they do without him- hadn’t been enough to deter him.

He was a desperate man, backed into a corner and panicking.

The hospital room was just as dark as it had been back then, cramped in the bathroom of that caravan in the early hours of the morning trying to reason with him. Their hair had been messy and dishevelled, overdue a trim, and initially they’d just been grumpy, sleepy and desperate for a piss. Of course, there were soon bigger issues than their bladder and the ridiculous time.

The memory blurred into yet another as they thought about how painfully right they’d been. How could Logan have expected to get away with it? Sure, a lot of competitors had been found to be on steroids, but for years Logan had spoken out against such practices, slamming anyone caught using them as dirty cheaters. So when it was discovered the holier-than-thou Wonder Down Under himself had been using performance enhancers, well, that was a tabloid journalist's wet dream.

His reputation had been torn to shreds overnight, to the point where no one could be bothered to remember the names of the other sportsmen exposed because they simply weren’t as interesting.

Hunapo was sure a murderer had been tried the same week as Logan, but they couldn’t quite remember.

It had been awful watching him get led into a police car.

Logan didn’t make a fuss, didn’t try to resist arrest. He just hung his head in shame- unable and unwilling to even glance in their direction- and let them take him away, muscles rippling as his arms were stretched behind him into handcuffs.

It had been a mild winter’s day, Hunapo remembered. The four of them were outside the caravan, as per usual, the children playing as Logan cooked dinner on a little camping stove, radio blaring, air filled with nervous laughter. He was waiting for news of his drugs test. Even then, Hunapo knew that day would change their lives for the worst. And they weren't the only one. Logan was an idiot, but he wasn’t completely ignorant, and he was trying his best to keep things normal for the little ones, a happy family. It could be their last meal together for a good while.

The kids were crying. Charlie was in their arms, just a little thing at the time and she couldn’t stop wailing. She didn’t understand. Between her whines she chewed the ear of her toy rabbit and wiped snot on Hunapo’s t-shirt. One of her sandals had fallen off and her hair had frizzed up from rubbing her head against her soon-to-be-guardian’s chest. When Logan disappeared into the police car, she dropped her rabbit and reached out for him with two pudgy, grabbing arms. Where was Logie going? Where were they taking him? Why couldn’t she go too?

Oscar, meanwhile, glared sullenly at the car, hiding behind Huna and clinging to their shirt like he was three, not thirteen. In the back of their mind, Hunapo had been worried he would make a scene, try to stop them from taking his brother, but there had been no need to worry there. Oscar had been terrified of the police and refused to go near them.

He hadn't been the only fearful one right then. Hunapo had promised, should anything happen to Logan, that they would look after Oscar and Charlie, but would they be allowed to? They had known Logan for a total of two years at this point, and they weren’t married to him. Couldn’t marry him in Australia. Would they get custody? They were legally a practical stranger.

Hunapo had gripped a sobbing Charlie tighter at the thought of them being taken into care so suddenly, them probably unable to get the kids back or ever see them again. How would they be able to explain that to Logan? That his kids were gone forever? He’d never be able to get them back with a criminal record, most likely. They didn’t know for sure but damn they were scared.

It never happened though, obviously.

Hunapo couldn’t help but wonder at their life. Four years was all it took to get from there to lying in a hospital bed once more, unable to move on even if they wanted to. It was the three year anniversary of their engagement tonight, and this had not been where they saw themselves. They'd seen that little shitty caravan and rodeo and their family. They'd seen training with Logan, and the both of them teaching the little ones all the tricks in the book. They’d seen family days out, meandering through the outback on horses looking at all the wildlife and natural beauty. They’d seen Logan, very much alive with his jail time but an unfortunate memory, something to look back on and cringe at, and learn from.

But Logan was dead and here they were trying to raise his kids to be the best they could be. But whatever the outcome, Logan had changed their life.

Out of everything Hunapo had imagined their life to be, widowed at twenty-three was not up there. Thanks, Cooper.

Two years on, they still couldn’t fathom how everything had gone wrong so quickly, and they had to wonder: had Logan coming into their life been a blessing, or the worst thing to ever happen to them?

After all, had they not met the loudest mouth in Australia, they would not have emotionally aged decades before their time grieving the loss of the love of their life. They would not practically be a single parent to two rather shell-shocked children. They might have been able to afford a home without wheels, and certainly one not parked in their parents’ front garden.

They would not be trying to piece their shattered heart back together, bit by miniscule bit.

But they would not have Oscar and Charlie, their pride and joy, two wonderful, smart, funny children with all the good qualities of Logan and with more personal hygiene too. They would not have had the pleasure of watching them grow, and with any luck continuing to do so. Who knew where those two would be now, without a single member of their family left besides each other?

They’d also found love, as tragic as the outcome had been. Hunapo had gotten to love someone with all their heart, someone who adored them and made them feel safe. Someone who loved them for who they were, flaws and all. Logan and Hunapo had never needed a perfect movie love story, they just worked at their relationship and cared for each other and had fun doing so. Logan, no matter how briefly he’d been in their life, had most definitely improved it.

Yes, it had to be a blessing that they’d met Logan Cooper.

For all the grief and pain they’d gone through over the years, Hunapo still had those blissful, happy memories to cling to, that far outweighed the bad.

The night of their engagement, for one thing.

Hunapo could almost feel the sting in their eyes as they remembered piling wood onto that bonfire before being dragged back by a grinning Logan for a dance, fresh out of prison at last and loving every minute of being back home surrounded by his three favourite people.

The caravan had been parked at the side of the road, not a soul around for hundreds of miles, and as such, they could be as loud as they wanted. Oscar had sat on a stump, playing a lively tune on the ukulele, tapping his foot and singing along with Charlie. She was dancing wildly too, as out of tune as her brothers and laughing between verses.

Logan had wheeled them around, dipped them, ducked them, kissed them as they ignored the groaning from the other two. He whispered that he loved them, loudly proclaimed once more that he would win the next rodeo without the use of steroids and Hunapo knew then was the time to do it.

They were to travel back to New Zealand the very next day, to sort out some business and be back in time for Logan’s rodeo comeback, but before that there was something they’d been building up the courage to do all night.

So they got down on one knee, pulled out their grandmother’s wedding ring, and proposed. Everything they’d wanted to say, pride be damned, came out then. About how much Logan meant to them. About how they wanted to spend the rest of their life with him. About how every day they’d been apart had been pure, unrelenting hell and they never wanted to be away from him again, and how, when they came back to Australia, they were never leaving his side for as long as they both lived. If he’d let them, that is.

It was the first time Hunapo had ever seen him cry.

Logan didn’t even bother trying to hide the tears as he exclaimed that, yes, he would love to marry Hunapo before picking them up and spinning them around before pulling all three of them into a crushing, suffocating hug.

Hunapo decided to end the memory there, before it got too painful. They’d had enough of that to last a lifetime.

Now their eyes stung from the sheer exhaustion of keeping them open, unsure if the tears were from a yawn or the memory. Now the room was filled with other patients recovering from broken bones, all apparently asleep. Now they were sat propped up in their hospital bed staring blankly at the near-black curtains around them, and only their aching leg for company.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There we go, a glimpse into Hunapo’s mind that isn’t just straight up memories. But they’re fun to write either way.


	19. Pole bending

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes more fast updates call me the Sonic of fanfiction. This chapter, again, isn’t too long so that’s probably the reason I can get it out for the third day in a row. The next one, however, will be fairly long and important [like my dick… sorry] so will take a while longer to write. It’s pretty exciting though, more exciting than this and this has horseriding and shit.  
> But on a real though, these sped updates are making me feel like such a success haha.

Well Oscar was clearly in his element here.

Mike didn’t even have time to be jealous as he watched the other weave between poles, horse and boy working together as one, he was simply astounded. Oscar Cooper looked picture perfect, with his determined frown and hair bobbing as he bounced in his saddle, almost hypnotic in his grace. Did that hair ever lose its shine? Did Oscar?

Cooper suited the timed events far better than the roughstock ones, especially here where it was all about guiding a horse as quickly as possible, just skill, and a fair bit of balance. Even from here, Mike could see the muscles in Oscar’s legs at work, the dust on his jeans, the lightening movements of the riding crop back and forth. All too soon though he’d finished weaving and was making the final stretch back down the arena into the alley he’d burst from, coming to a halt with that stupid, smarmy smile on his face. He was holding back his emotions again, it seemed. Mike wondered how he’d choose to celebrate if he’d allowed himself to.

20.56 seconds, the scoreboard read. Not bad at all.

Competition aside, this was the first time Mike had to admit to himself that Cooper was just so utterly attractive, as painful as that was.

Even though Mike was only second, he was miles behind Oscar’s score, had no chance of catching up, and honestly didn’t care. He was still winning overall, and the both of them only had the one event left. The worst that could happen was a draw, so Mike just let himself enjoy the moment, not let jealousy get the better of him, and stop repressing his feelings for the lanky twat.

He wondered what it would be like to kiss Oscar, to touch him. Mike was willing to bet the guy had the softest skin, and that hair would be amazing to run his fingers through. He thought about what it would be like to take off that scarf of his and kiss his neck, perhaps even leaving a trail of them. Mike wondered if Oscar had ever French kissed anyone before, and if so, was he any good at it? And at least if his mouth was against those perfect lips, Cooper wouldn’t be able to talk shit for once, though he wondered what kind of noises the other would make in that situation.

Pushing those thoughts down with a deep blush, Mike glanced over once more as Oscar dismounted, almost knocked down by his sister leaping into his arms with a run. The ugly pang of jealousy that followed was also pushed down and he turned away from the siblings before anyone could see him staring.

Brazil’s competitor was up next, already on his horse and bursting with excitement. At just fifteen, he was the youngest contestant here, and Mike liked the guy. He was rather sweet, if a little naive and chipper.

It’s was Mike’s last go-round after this, and his only hope was to maintain his runner-up status or he’d really be in trouble. Shouldn’t be too hard though, right?

He’d better stop drooling over guys like an idiot then.

“Hey well done Cooper,” he called in a show of good sportsmanship, like he’d done to every other competitor because they were still his equals and he respected them all deeply. The boy in question, however, regarded him with suspicion.

“I mean it,” Mike insisted as he drew nearer, “damn you were like a majestic antelope out there! I couldn’t look away.”

Finally taking it to be a genuine compliment, Oscar smiled with pretend bashfulness as he flicked a lock of hair out of his face, Charlie- still carried by him- rolling her eyes in disgust.

“Why thank you,” purred Oscar, “pole bending and barrel racing are my favourite events, after all, as you can probably tell. This contest is not over, my dear friend, but I must say I don’t know who will win.”

“The best man, I guess, whoever that is;” Mike shrugged, “either way, you kept me on my toes all month, so well done newbie.”

He could’ve been mistaken, but Oscar’s laugh sounded just that bit colder.

Mike couldn’t let this conversation turn sour yet again. Not only was there no time, but he didn’t want to let his temper get the better of him once more; he needed to keep a level head for the last event.

“Likewise,” replied Oscar, “it certainly made my time here all the more exciting.”

“Yeah, swell.” Mike thought for a moment. “Hey, you know that party they’re throwing tomorrow night? You know, the one the producers organised for us and our families and some of the visitors? Well, are you going?” It was a yearly tradition, held in one of the fair’s buildings decorated to look like a barn. There was live music, dancing, and a good spread out, and was one of the few social events Mike actually looked forward to.

“I’m not sure,” Oscar admitted, “I’m more of a grand ball sort of fellow as opposed to a hoedown in a barn… hall thing.”

“You’ve never been to a grand ball in your life,” Charlie scoffed, “come on, go and relax for once.”

“The gremlin’s right,” Mike added jokingly.

“We’ll see.” And with that, the Cooper siblings were gone, matching mops of hair disappearing amongst the small crowd of competitors, but not out of the stadium just yet, Mike noticed. Did Cooper want to stay and watch his performance? He blushed at the thought.

Mike was most certainly not in love with Oscar, he decided to himself as he mounted his horse, only physically attracted. He found the other’s face and physique pleasing, that was all. Actually spending time in his company and going on, ugh, dates would be the absolute worst.

And they’d never be married or any of that dopey shit.

But then he remembered what he’d discussed with Matt. He and Oscar could get along, and would, under different circumstances.

No, it still could never work and he didn’t want it to work. If he was to even do anything with the Aussie, it would simply be a bit of fooling around. Maybe even at the party. In secret, of course.

Nah, that was stupid.

“Will you get a damn move on, gringo!”

“Oh shit sorry!” Mike tapped his horse with his riding crop and the beast burst forward with a start.

Mike liked this animal- a strong, chestnut stallion with dark eyes and a patch of black on his forehead- and they’d worked well together in training. He respected all the animals he worked with and ‘Dylan Bobby’ was no exception, and as such, they made a good team in this event, and hopefully the next one too.

He burst from the alley, charging at the poles at full speed. He’d done this so many times before. It had to go well. He raced past all six of them, towering over the two of them in startling red and white.

Mike guided Dylan around the very last pole, right at the end, performing a hairpin turn and ever so carefully making sure neither horse nor rider touched the poles, for fear of knocking them to the ground. Five second penalty if that were to happen. And then they were in the thick of it, Mike using the strength in his legs and the careful touch of his hands gripping the reins to guide the horse between the poles, weaving in and out and in and out. Like clockwork.

At the end of the line, he once more performed a hairpin turn, Dylan sending dust spraying into the air as his hooves thundered across the sand. The force of such a beast making such a tight turn almost seemed to stop time itself, and Mike felt everything. He felt his hair and hat move on his head, the stetson threatening to fly off altogether. He felt the foot of his spurs digging into the soles of his boots as he pushed against them. He could smell the dust and the leather and hear the roar of the crowd and the thumping of hooves.

And then they were off again.

Mike’s hips strained from steering such an animal with his lower body. The strength in his arms was leaving him, but he didn’t let go of the reins. His steely grip persevered as they maneuvered in and out of the poles, and within seconds they were done, turning around and galloping back towards the alley, Mike swishing his crop back and forth to spur Dylan on.

All too soon- but probably not soon enough- the event was done and dusted.

Mike glanced up at the scoreboard, grinning as he read a time of 20.98. Brilliant!

His family were cheering for him, he soon noticed, Sam clapping wildly next to a more reserved Matt. Natalya was nowhere to be seen, as usual. Sam, however, leapt up and threw her hat in the air, leaving it up to Matt to catch it again as she jumped up and down, waving her arms wildly. Good old Sam…

Oscar, too, was clapping for him, face betraying that he was impressed without envy. Of course, he was still the winner. Why would he need envy?

But the fact that he was clapping still made Mike just a little bashful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I still can’t believe Pole Bending is the name of a real sport that people actually compete in. I’ll have you know I only laughed 556256 times. This entire au is just dumb euphemisms and I love it.  
> If this chapter felt unnecessary to you, I would like to point out this was the last event I added to the story, because I hadn’t read about it before, but with a name like that I just had to go and add it. I’m sorry, however, that I promised an exciting action chapter, and all you got was Molly having a boner harder than writing so many sports scene and keeping them fresh and exciting. Hah.  
> Tbh he probably didn’t even need a riding crop he could’ve just used his dick. I don't know what's wrong with me I'm just being extra silly today.  
> Oh, I should mention another reason the next update will be a while is because I’m going camping for a week starting tomorrow. Lol bye. Please leave feedback.


	20. Polka

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, the big two-oh, huh? Welp, I’m quite proud of myself for actually getting this far, this being only my fourth fic to get this long [well, fifth if you count the entirety of spytalia]. And it’s a fairly lengthy chapter too so I’m happy all round here.
> 
> Given that I only had a paragraph or so before I left, meaning this was pretty much all written since Saturday, I’m rather proud with the pace of writing this. There are, at the very least, ten chapters to go, but no more than twenty, so yes we’re nearing the end, slowly but surely, which is a relief because I doubt many people are still following this now.

He was only talking to Oscar because they both looked bored.

Mike, too, had never been to a grand ball, and had no intention of attending such an event, but he’d take it over this anyday. Tonight was just that disappointing.

Hunapo’s little accident had created something of a somber mood, and many of the guests still seemed dazed at the news, that one of the favourites to win was now in hospital critically injured. A few danced- Charlie included, the girl being the only one to understand that Hunapo would be horrified at the thought of a large crowd of people pitying them and ruining a perfectly good party to do so- in a cluster of groups in the centre of the dance floor, with a few of the braver- or more misanthropic- guests dancing alone. A couple of the other competitors had branched off into couples or groups to dance together, as had some of their parents, but Mike didn’t particularly want to join them either. Matthew, a longtime admirer of Haka Davies, was among those stood glumly at the side, along with Sam, who was now the favourite to win and more importantly missing the company of her dear Arthur, still back in England probably working through his week’s notice and trying to persuade his family that he wasn’t an idiot for just dropping everything, moving to another continent, and deciding to live in a trailer with a girl he’d actually never bothered to mention to them. Mike, of course, would love to dance, and when it had been the three Jones brothers and Sam as children, he would naturally have joined them, spinning in a circle as he danced a polka or clapping and kicking out a line dance. Of course, now neither Matt, Sam nor Alfred were in any mood to dance, and there was no way in hell that Mike was getting up on his own. So, after eating his fill at the buffet, he looked around for a spot of company.

Oscar was, naturally, the most sombre here. He stood in the corner, glaring into his glass of juice, seemingly trying to make himself appear as small as possible, and given that several others had made sure to offer condolences regarding a person not actually dead, Mike could see why- for once- the other did not want to be the centre of attention.

He’d still cleaned up nicely though, Mike noticed. Oscar’s hair was beautiful, as usual, apparently combed to something even neater, curls smooth and sleek as a fresh new saddle. His boots were cleaned and he wore his best jeans, along with a sharp shirt and that red scarf of his. Now that he thought about it, Mike hadn’t actually seen him without it- besides that one evening when he’d been in his pyjamas.

Maybe because it was the most important party of his year- and usually the only party he attended- but Mike, too, had made an effort. His shirt was clean, jeans held up with braces, and he sported a white waistcoat he’d been given last Christmas by his aunt, one with beautiful rhinestone decoration. Sam had called it tacky, but Mike loved the thing and had been waiting for an event to wear it, not least because it matched Alfred’s- now his- hat. That had been cleaned and all, and almost shone, perched on his combed hair, his outfit completed by a gold chain just visible under his shirt.

“Some jamboree this is,” he began as he approached the other.

Oscar nodded, face almost vacant. “I appreciate the effort to makes things more… authentic, but the atmosphere is… well, if I wasn’t under the weather before, I certainly am now.”

He had a point. As miserable as the partygoers were, at least the venue itself looked nice.

It was a one-roomed hall somewhere near the centre of the fair that had been transformed over the course of the day, by Matthew and other volunteers, into a ‘barn’ with bales of hay to sit on, straw on the floor, fake farming equipment dotted about the place and a country band on the stage at the end. He had to admire the detail that went into these, down to the stables along one side of the wall to act as dining booths. The already mentioned buffet table served all his favourite little snacks, and though he was too embarrassed to dance, he couldn’t help tapping his foot along to the music. Most impressive though was the hundreds of strings of lights trailing across the rafters and snaking down wooden beams, illuminating the place- and people- beautifully.

“Yeah, give them some time and booze and they’ll soon loosen up,” Mike scoffed with a wave of the hand.

“I wish that were the case for us,” Oscar admitted, “a few drinks, but you fellows seem rather strict on that front.”

“Sorry about that man, but I gotta admit some beers would be good. I haven’t had any in like four years.”

“Blimey.” Oscar’s eyebrows shot up.

Mike wanted to kiss Oscar so bad it was crazy.

There was no way he was gonna make the first move though, especially not out in public and especially not on his rival. He’d just have to hope Oscar had any attraction to him, and was willing to put his dignity on the line in order to confess. Yeah, not likely then.

“Oh, to dance like a young one,” Oscar began, wistful as he watched Charlie twirl around the dancefloor.

“Yo, you’re like a kid, basically, so don’t start acting like some old ballsack.”

“I meant to be a small child,” Oscar told him, “you know, back before one becomes self conscious and preoccupied with image.”

“Were you ever not into your image?”

The boy laughed at that, “True, but I still wish I could dance. Even a simple waltz or polka would be fun.”

“Then dance!”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“I’m embarrassed. And I have no one to dance with.”

“Dance with Charlie.”

“She had no sense of rhythm.”

A small, sly smile grew across Mike’s face. “I’m starting to think she’s not the only one.”

“I am a highly elegant dancer,” Oscar sniffed.

“Prove it.”

“No.”

Mike, rather childishly, let out a series of bawks and clucks, flapping his arms like a chicken’s stumpy wings. Oscar, unfortunately, seemed determined not to rise to the bait.

“I’m probably better,” he tried instead, with immediate success.

“Oh, don’t talk nonsense,” Oscar snapped.

“Well there’s only one way to find out...”

“Does it involve you conceding defeat? Because I doubt we can find willing dance partners, seeing how everyone else is either not at all interested or already partnered off.”

“And probably don’t know the polka,” Mike added.

“Well we should just accept this is one mystery we cannot solve in the near future.”

Mike rolled his eyes. “Or we could just dance together. I mean, come on, there are two of us here lookin’ for dance partners.”

“But then how could we see who’s better?”

“Get Charlie to judge?”

Oscar shrugged. “I suppose. But I do think two men dancing together like a couple would attract unwanted attention.”

“We could dance outside,” suggested Mike, “we’d be out of sight and still hear the music.”

“An excellent idea,” proclaimed Oscar, voice dripping reluctance and sarcasm.

“Meet you outside then,” and Mike stormed off, hoping to come off as subtly seductive as he walked, not too obvious, of course, but enough to keep him interested. Of course, like in most things, he resembled Alfred in his sense of subtlety, a man who- rather fittingly- never was quite sure how it was spelt.

Outside the hall there was a little stretch of veranda, with a handful of people gathered outside to smoke, including a couple of the under 18s competitors. Mike didn’t say anything to them, deciding it wasn’t his business to do so, and carried on down the steps and round the side. It was chilly out here, with the sun gone and no light besides the twinkling spilling out through the translucent windows of the hall. Perfectly out of the way.

Oscar soon joined him, dragging a rather disgruntled Charlie along, who stood pouting and folding her arms, scuffing her boots in the dirt. They matched her little baby pink summer dress and hat nicely, and her hair had for once been tamed and pulled into a pair of braids trailing down her back.

“Alright,” she huffed, shivering slightly, “let’s get this over with.”

“Who will lead?” asked Oscar. “I’m afraid my only previous dance partner has been Charlotte here.”

“Well funny enough,” Mike grinned, “I’ve danced with my brothers and Sam, so know how to lead and follow. You can lead then. It might be easier with our height difference too.”

“That’s settled then.” Oscar gracefully extended a hand, which Mike took, thankful that once more no one could see him blush. And if they did, well it would hardly be odd if he said he’d simply caught the sun earlier. Oscar gently pulled his shorter dance partner closer so they were face to face, pausing for a few moments as the band set up to start a new song.

Mike placed his left hand on Oscar’s shoulder, the other bringing his right arm up just under, hand resting on Mike’s shoulder blade. His spine tingled at the touch. Their other hands were clasped together, extended out to the side. Perfect starting position. If they were actually competing right now, Mike was sure the judges’ attentions would already be captured.

Like his heart.

His brain really needed to fuck off with that garbage.

The music began and Michael stepped to his right, and the pair were off with a hop. It was magical. There was nothing but the music and each other as they skipped in tight circles, not a foot out of place or fear of being judged as inferior. His heart fluttered and raced from the movements, happy to be twirled around by his partner. They just melded together as one fluid being rippling with energy and electricity, and even the music melted around them into the pounding of their hearts and the blood rushing through their veins as they spun. Red in the face, Mike let out a laugh as Oscar ducked him, having ignored the end of the song and coming to a standstill in their own time.

“Sorry,” the boy muttered, “old habit.” He pulled Mike back up with a stifled giggle.

“A perfect gentleman, you sure are,” the other mumbled, lingering in his arms for just a moment.

“Well Charlie, how was our-” Oscar looked around for his sister, only to find that, during the course of their rather intimate moment, she’d presumably gotten bored and wandered back inside. Lovely.

“That damned child,” he muttered.

“So I guess that means I win,” joked Mike, elbowing Oscar in the side.

“Oh no you don’t,” he grunted as he squirmed away. “Rematch.”

“Ah there you are!” Matthew, thankfully, appeared at the right moment to quell any squabbling that might arise, playful or otherwise. “I just ran into Charlie and she told me the pair of you were being gay outside, so to be honest I’m rather relieved I haven’t just walked in on something.”

“My, my, what an impertinent child,” Oscar spat, hand on his chest.

“We’re not doing gay stuff,” mumbled Mike, “we’re just dancing.” He wrapped his arms around his chest, speaking into his collar.

Matt didn’t seem at all willing to question further. “Well, anyway,” he began, “I thought you might both like a can, and since you’re already outside I doubt anyone will see you.” He held up two beers, grinning cheekily.

“Oh, thank you very much,” said Oscar, taking a can. “I suppose I am rather parched.” Somehow managing to remain graceful, he ripped the thing open and took a long glug that would’ve made his entire family proud.

“Yeah cheers bro,” Mike took his own can, pulling the tab somewhat more tentatively than his peer and taking a cautious sip.

It tasted the same as before, though he’d almost forgotten it under four years worth of non-alcoholic food and drink. There was that bitter flavour filling his mouth, and the aftertaste that took him back to his first taste in the stands oh so long ago. Matt was younger and Oscar was gone, replaced by a sorrowful Natalya. He could smell the burgers that were ignored, the dust kicked up by beast and man, see the droplets of blood escape his brother’s lips as the powerful hooves of the bull all but impaled him.

Mike dropped his can, and, like before, the golden beer dribbled onto his boots, consumed by the arid earth.

“Michael?” Matt took a step closer, half-holding out one of his arms, but unwilling to attempt to shake him from his memory. “What’s wrong?”

“Jones?” Oscar, too, spoke softly, unsure of how to help the other.

As he held his dying brother’s hand, Mike pulled himself out of the vision, picking up his can and sipping nonchalantly.

“Oh for fuck’s sake it’s all over my boots now,” he grumbled.

“Mike...”

“What?” he raised an eyebrow at his brother, eyes warning him to be quiet.

“Did you-”

“I dropped my can. Forgot they’re so slippery.” And with that, he downed the thing in one gulp. “Hey, bro, you don’t reckon you could get us another round, could you?”

 

…

 

Who the hell was drunk after two tiny cans? Someone who didn’t drink, Mike supposed through the haze of his mind as he stumbled ever so slightly. He was only a little tipsy, he reasoned, still able to think, but everything was slower now, like the world around him was made of custard, even the air.

Oscar didn’t seem as affected, but giggles escaped his lips easier now, and more than once he’d tripped ever so slightly on nothing. His hair, for once, looked just a tiny bit unkempt, after he’d ran his hands through his curls to get them out of his face.

The pair had decided it was best to go for a walk, away from the stuffy dance hall and prying eyes who would know they’d been drinking underaged. It was also nice to calm down after their little contest and take in some of that lovely cool air, a little too thin on oxygen for Mike’s liking, but satisfactory, he supposed.

“Are you okay?” asked Oscar, breaking the silence so sharply that Mike almost jumped out of his skin.

“Fucking hell,” he gasped, “yes I’m fine.”

“Really? You seemed-”

“Fuck off with ‘you seemed’. I’m fine. You’re just nosy!”

Oscar huffed. “Fine. Whatever you say.” They continued on in silence, neither really sure of where to go, and just following the other’s lead. But, when they thought they saw someone walking towards them in the shadows, Oscar grabbed Mike’s arm and they ducked behind the holding pens they had gravitated towards. Thankfully the sheep being held did not alert whomever it was to their presence, and the two, tipsy, giddy, boys could sneak away in peace, stuffing their knuckles into their mouths to keep from giggling.

Unknown to them, however, was that they’d been quite clearly seen by what turned out to be Canada’s older competitor, although he was only out to have a cheeky cigarette and a spot of fresh air himself, so wasn’t about to make a scene, had he cared to even acknowledge the noisy drunks darting away. It wasn’t his business to judge, he decided, and went on his merry way.

But Oscar and Mike still believed they were stealthily escaping pursuit, so carried on their stooped trotting until they’d rounded the silent, still teacup ride and reached the safety of what appeared to be little more than a neat shack. The boys stumbled in, Mike slamming the door shut in his haste to get inside, losing his grip on the handle and falling flat on his back.

“Oh, dearie you,” exclaimed Oscar, extending an arm to help him back up, “aren’t you a clumsy boy.”

“Yeah alright don’t go on about it,” Mike muttered.

“It’s endearing,” Oscar tried to assure him, “you’re endearing.”

“Really? Not intimidating? Strong? At the very least, handsome, right?”

Oscar just laughed.

“Where the hell are we anyways?” Deciding he would not get an answer out of his companion, Mike looked around at his new change of subject.

“The trophy room, I do believe.”

Well, it didn’t take a genius to work that out. The one-roomed shed they were in housed that grand trophy, the one everyone was working towards, the one on the brink of Mike’s grasp. To the sides were a handful of smaller copies, for the individual events yet to be competed in, and all were encased in glass Mike was not in a million years stupid enough to try and break. In fact, though he wanted to admire the item, he refrained from moving too close, lest he set off any alarms.

“And to think,” Oscar whispered, mirroring Michael’s thoughts, “in a few days one of us will be walking away with that.”

“Whoever that is will be incredibly lucky,” Mike added, “there’s not much in it.”

“If I had my way, we would share it,” Oscar smiled at the thought, “we’ve both done enough to earn it, but alas...”

“No hard feelings either way though,” said Mike, turning to face him, “I mean, yeah we both want it badly and for good reasons, but second place isn’t so bad. So I promise no tears and tantrums on my end if you do too.”

Oscar beamed at him, radiating warmth. “Agreed. Though, you might want to practice your graceful congratulations in advance.”

“Ah don’t start that now,” Mike knew he was joking, and brushed the comment off as such, but he really wasn’t in the mood. Not in the slightest.

“Oh, of course. Sorry.” And that was that.

Oscar moved on to admire the numerous photographs on the wall, protected by a string of red ropes and golden stands around the edges of the room. They all told of victors past, all smiling at the cameras with different levels of restraint, all holding exact copies of the trophy before the two boys, along with medals and rosettes galore. There were the winners of the previous few years, up to grainy photographs from the fifties and sixties onwards, contrasting starkly with goofy grins and nylon clothing.

“Whaddya reckon?” asked Mike, “think they have room for another pair of clowns?”

“Oh of course,” Oscar replied with a smile, “maybe even a few photos.”

“So you’re coming back next year no matter what now?”

“I will if you do. This has been rather fun, I have to admit, besides the incident with Huna, but that could happen to anyone.”

“Well, see you there then, if you can beat off every cowboy in Australia again.”

“Shan’t be too hard,” Oscar told him, “I managed last year after all.”

“Same, though one day we’ll have to let some other sap have a chance.” Mike laughed at that.

“Well we have to grow old at some point.”

“Pff, even then we’ll still be kicking ass!”

Oscar turned to him, smile taking on a warming quality, eyes sparkling. “I hope we can become friends after this. Despite everything, I am rather fond of you, in some strange phenomenon.”

“Yeah, same to you, I guess.” Michael- lightly as he could- punched him on the shoulder, hiding his smile in his collar.

They lapsed into silence once more, but this time neither moved to admire the displays, in fact, Michael simply could not pull himself away from the other’s gaze. Oscar’s face, as soft as it was, could hold an intense stare, and he seemed to be dissecting the other’s soul, picking apart his feelings and pulling out his desires. Without thinking, Mike drew nearer, slipping his hand into Oscar’s larger one.

Oscar looked away first, and, despite himself, Michael took that as a victory.

“My my, Jones,” he gasped out before Michael silenced him with a kiss.

He hadn’t done this before, and if he was frankly honest with himself, Michael didn’t know if he was doing something right or not. But Oscar was kissing back. At least, Mike assumed how the other’s lips melted into his and worked with him was kissing back.

It was frustratingly brief, the taste of bitter beer on Oscar’s lips, the curled hair that fell forward as the boy bent down and tickled Mike’s nose and cheeks.

And, as quickly as he drew nearer, Oscar pulled away, looking anywhere but in Michael’s eyes.

“Wait,” he began, voice low. In the near darkness, everything seemed to still, and Mike struggled to read the handful of miniscule movements that graced his face, but his eyes were firmly shut. “Michael, I-”

And that was when the panic set in. Michael ripped his hand from Oscar’s like it was a white hot vice and backed away.

“Sorry,” he muttered, this apology no easier to get out than its predecessors. “I’ll just… yeah...”

“Mike, I just didn’t like the way the pictures were staring-”

He stumbled towards the door, easy to find as moonlight spilled in the tiny windows embedded into the wood.

“They put me off. Please don’t go...”

Mike rattled the door handle, only to find the thing jammed and unwilling to budge. Panic throttled him now and he could do little else but push and pull on the door as his mind screamed at him to get out and get as far away from Oscar as possible. He got his wish. He kissed Cooper. But like he’d predicted it had just been humiliating and created nothing but yet more blackmail material.

“Michael, please, calm down,” Oscar whined, making no attempt to try and restrain him. Michael didn’t reply, electing to ignore whatever the other had to say, and was so prepared to not listen to him that it actually surprised him when Oscar didn’t reply. He heard footsteps behind him, but didn’t look up.

“Hey, look at this,” Oscar whispered excitedly. Mike ignored him.

“Stupid ancient piece of shit cock of a door!”

“I’m serious, come look at this!”

“What?” he groaned, drawing out the word. He just wanted to get out of here and… well… he wasn’t sure what to do after that.

“Look!” Oscar pointed, up up at one of the photos neatly tucked in amongst the others. It was six years old at the very most, and in it, Alfred and Logan stood side by side, crouched and buckling under each other’s weights. Logan had a tree trunk of an arm around Alfred’s neck, the other reaching up with a golden hand to cuff him round the back of the head. They looked ready to explode with laughter, both clutching a sparkling trophy with their free arms.

“Oh,” Mike let out a whistle, “heh, it’s them...”

“I knew they knew each other, but I didn’t know just how close they were,” Oscar told him, moving on to yet another photo of the pair, this time with a rather unfortunate Matthew squeezed between them.

“Yeah, it’s like they were best friends or something;” Mike followed along, laughing at one of them pulling silly faces, using their rosettes as novelty goggles. “I’m not surprised, really.”

“They do come across as being very similar, come to think of it,” agreed Oscar.

“I’ll ask Mattie about it; he’ll know more about it.”

“Likewise, I’ll mention it to Huna.”

Mike laughed once more. “Phew, but wow what a coincidence! And to think, the whole time they’ve probably been up there, laughing at how freaking stupid we’re being.”

“They’d have done that anyway.” Oscar contributed with his own little laugh.

“Yeah, dicks.”

Oscar nodded, making his way towards the door. “Still, we probably shouldn’t even be here, what with all these valuables lying about.”

“Oh, right, yeah. The door’s stuck though.”

“I think you might have slammed it a little too hard upon entering,” Oscar noted as he tested the handle. “If we work together it should be fine though.”

“Uh, sure.” So Mike joined him, trying not to rub against the other as he clutched the handle over Oscar’s hand. His warm, rough hand. Together though, they wiggled and maneuvered the door handle into giving, and finally the pair could stumble out into the night.

“Well, see ya then,” Mike tried to walk out and away from this disaster of an encounter, but something snagged on his sleeve and before he could investigate, Oscar pulled him back into the gloom of the little trophy hut and planted a wet kiss on his now burning cheek.

“Hey what’d ya go do that for?” he almost screeched, know the other could full well see his flushed face in the moonlight. Oscar, on the other hand, looked wraithlike. No, fairy-like. Or just straight up magical. Mike was never one for imagery and similes.

But, back on track and incredibly important, was the fact that Oscar his kissed him.

“Goodnight, Jones,” was all Oscar cared to say before wandering off through the fair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there we have it. At long last, these idiots kissed. I’m so proud of them -sniff-. Maybe one day I’ll write their first kiss in a fic and it’ll be sober. I’m not trying to imply anything, except that they’re both so stubborn they’d probably need outside help to make those first steps and alcohol does as good a job as any.
> 
> I’m still not actually sure how to polka, despite all the tutorials I’ve watched on it. Shame really. Honestly, there wasn’t a specific song I had in mind during this chapter, so you can substitute your own upbeat country song here. Maybe even Standing Outside the Fire, haha.
> 
> Damn, all Matthew seems to do in America is complain and slip teens alcohol.
> 
> I suppose their relationship will just be plain sailing from here on out, and they’ll just get along and date and be cute with no rivalry. HAH.


	21. Moving on

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd update something else but I don't want to ruin this mad progress I'm making.

“Oscar, boy, when you said you wanted to beat off the competition… what exactly did you mean by that?”

“Hunapo!” Oscar screeched before burying his face in his hands. Some help Huna was being. This was a serious issue and they were just being silly!

When Oscar had visited ten minutes ago, he’d barely stopped to ask them how they were getting along before launching into a monologue on how his first kiss had been taken by his supposed rival- even if they were getting along better- and how he honestly didn’t know what to make of the situation. Hunapo’s jokes weren’t making the situation any better though, when they were finally given a chance to speak. He’d taken the time to visit the day before the next event to get some good advice- instead of training, like he ought to be- and he wanted some damn good advice.

“Okay,” their laughing and the dimples in their cheeks from grinning finally died down, “I’ll be serious now. So… what do you think of the whole thing? What do you think of Mike, to be honest?”

Well, that certainly got Oscar’s brain whirring. “I don’t think it was bad. I mean, it was quite… romantic at the time and I’m not upset or anything. It was a lovely moment, actually, couldn't have asked for anything better.”

Hunapo nodded thoughtfully.

“Mike… well...” the second question was proving to be far more difficult. “He is simply infuriating. Whilst to say I hate him would be untrue, I cannot stand him and his loud… ways, and to spend any time working with him is simply unbearable. He is brash, coarse and rude and has been an irritant from day one and every moment in his presence is… ugh.”

“Yes?” Hunapo gave the tiniest of smiles.

“Deep down, he’s rather sweet,” admitted Oscar. “He seems troubled by everything that’s happened to him, and I can sympathise, and for all his front he doesn’t seem that bad. We can get along when we want to too.”

Hunapo’s smile grew to a knowing smirk as they nodded once more.

“He is quite good looking,” Oscar added, to his own surprise. “He is a nice mixture of rugged and… soft. He comes across as squishy. And his hair irritated me at first, but I like it, especially the colour. His has the loveliest eyes too.”

Another laugh. “Ah, to be young and in love!”

“What?” spat Oscar.

“I remember falling for your brother all those years ago, finding him so annoying but so irresistibly attractive.”

“I am not in love!”

Hunapo thought the pouty face Oscar pulled was utterly adorable, and all too familiar. “Okay, ah, to be young and have a crush.”

Oscar glared at him. “I do not have a crush either.”

“Then why are you blushing?” they asked.

“You’re embarrassing me,” he shot back. “Look, let’s drop the subject now, okay?”

“Fine,” Hunapo gave a shrug, looking away, “besides, if I didn’t know young Jones any better, I’d say he just did it to get you- his biggest threat- all muddled up and confused and soft in the head.”

“That bastard,” hissed Oscar, rubbing his chin thoughtfully, “you don’t think that was why he did it, do you?”

“Not at all. It’s just the same thoughts I had about your brother after he first kissed me.”

Oscar wrinkled his nose. “Right, speaking of that brother of mine, were he and Alfred Jones ever friends?”

“Oh yes,” replied Hunapo, “the very best of friends! They got on like a pig in a pile of shit.”

“Lovely...”

“I’m surprised you didn’t know though.”

Oscar shrugged. “I remember him mentioning a friend called Alfred as a child, but never thought much of it. You know how I tend to get... wrapped up in my own little world. It was only when myself and Michael stumbled across some photographs of them did it cross my mind that they’d have known each other.”

“Well they competed alongside each other,” explained Hunapo, “wanted to beat each other as much as myself and Logan, and Alfred and Matthew, but when it was all over they could have a laugh about it.”

“Did you ever get worried he’d steal Logie from you?” Oscar joked, a sly smirk on his face.

“Oh not at all! Alfie had his lady friend, and everyone could see Logan was a devoted man.” And with that, the pair fell into silence, preoccupied with their own thoughts. Charlie came back from the cafe downstairs and, too, fell silent after greeting the pair.

“Huna,” Oscar began tentatively, “I’ve been wondering this for a while. Err, just on and off, mind you...”

“Yes?”

Oscar exhaled. “Do you think you’ll ever find someone new?”

Unsurprisingly, it took a long time for Hunapo to formulate a reply. They glanced over at the bedside table, to where their grandmother’s wedding ring- their engagement ring- had been wrapped in a cloth so thoughtfully be Oscar. The thing usually hung around their neck on a tatty bit of string, but with all the scans and surgeries, it would not be safe to wear.

Would they, one day, give that ring to another?

“Maybe,” they replied with a dry mouth, “but Oscar, I’m nowhere near ready to move on. At all. Logan dying tore me apart and it could be decades before I open my heart to another in that way.”

“I see.” He’d just been curious.

“You and Charlie will always be the most important people in my life,” Hunapo added, as if reading his mind, “well, there are my parents and sisters too, but no one else is gonna come along and replace you. Not now not ever.”

 

...

 

“You’re going to get us both in trouble,” Matthew grumbled.

“Forgive my lack of interest,” Natalya replied in a monotonous voice, taking a long drag of her cigarette for good measure. To be fair to her, she was leaning out the window of their hotel room, cigarette technically not inside the building. But the smoke was still seeping in and Matt didn’t want to breathe it, or for Natalya to get caught and the pair of them kicked out or fined or something.

Trying to argue with Natalya, though, was not his favourite pastime by far.

“If it is any consolation,” she told him, “I am leaving soon.”

“We all are.”

Natalya shook her head. “No, I mean in the next few days. Tell Sam it is with my deepest regrets that I shall not stay for her final event.”

“Oh? How come?” Matt settled on to his little bed, watching her curiously.

Natalya stubbed her cigarette in the window pain before throwing the stump into the garden below, making sure it landed outside someone else's window. She straightened her skirt as she wheeled round to look at him, still perched on the window sill like a glum porcelain doll. “You must have seen by now how bored and miserable I am here.”

“You’re usually bored when I see you,” Matt counteracted, “but yes, you seem as unhappy as should be expected for someone in your situation.”

“But I appear to be more so than Alfred’s actual family.”

“He saw you as family,” Matt told her, “and we all heal at different times. I miss my brother every day, but have learnt to manage my grief. Sorta.”

“And I haven’t.” Natalya let out a sigh. “I thought coming here would give me some sort of closure, but America isn’t the same without Alfred and I cannot stay here in his country just moping around. I have to go home and learn to heal.”

“So it’s no longer your second home?” asked Matt, recalling a conversation from years ago.

“Alfred was my second home, not this country.”

“That makes sense.”

“I love Alfred- and always will- but I have to move on,” Natalya spoke firmly. She stood up and made her way to her own bed, throwing herself down onto the covers. At any other time, she might have come across as graceful, but now she was simply tired. Lonely. Human. She wasn't the ice queen anymore.

“I understand,” Matt finally replied; “do what it takes to make you happy.”

Natalya smiled at that, ever so slightly bitter. “I must ask of you, please do not contact me after I’m gone.”

“Oh?”

“I need to move on and not be stuck in the past any longer,” she explained, “and I advise you to do the same. Look to the future.”

“So no memories of Alfred and this life and stuff?”

Natalya nodded. “That is what I will try. Matthew, you’re a good man, but you simply look too much like your brother for me to be around.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes Hunapo can be about as much use as a pair of sunglasses on a man with one ear. Or are they? Ohohoho. Yeah Oscar’d probably get better advice from Logan’s urn.  
> Sorry for neglecting Natalya throughout most of the fic, but she’s a minor character in this and not the focus. And now she’s fucking off completely…


	22. Barrel racing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What the actual fuck is this progress? This freaking speed? Five pages worth of a chapter in a few hours? I actually don’t know but shhh don’t scare it away I want to finish a fic this year at least, aha. I’m so excited to write these chapters though, as I’ve almost forgotten what it’s like to be at the action-y end of a story, given that my specialty seems to be first chapters and that's about it.  
> I have about three pages of plot left on my little plan for this so it’s safe to say this fic is nearing its end, which is weird because there just feels like so much to go in like seventeen chapters [at the very least]. Actually, never mind. Seventeen is a lot to get through.  
> But still, at least we’re back to the actual rodeo bit instead of drama and romance… sorta. Don’t worry, there’s plenty of action to come yet.

Hunapo’s words weighed on Oscar’s mind that night, tormented him, crushed his little heart to pieces until he hated the nonexistent swell and pressure in his lips, like they were still being kissed by Mike. Like his rough face was still pressing against Oscar's. That snake. It was only the exhaustion from silent tears that finally allowed him a few hours' sleep.

He could still feel the numbing tingle on his lips when he awoke the next morning, the giddy joy from yesterday all but evaporated. He still felt breathless, and had this point in his life still been one of hopeful unknown, he’d have embraced the tremor in his legs and the bugs in his tummy.

If Michael had been trying to distract him from winning the final event, then he’d done a fantastic job because Oscar’s mind was a mess right now.

With a groan, he pulled himself out of bed, ignoring the clock that told him it was six in the morning, careful not to disturb his sister as he made his way to the darkened en suite. _Focus, Oscar_ , he told himself, leaning over the sink to splash water on his face. He closed his eyes, letting the relief of such an action wash over him, eyelids heavy and sore.

He was an idiot for staying awake so late.

The water was helping though, to soothe him awake, its hand just that bit harsher as a collection of drops snuck under his sleeveless pyjama shirt. His reflection looked like death.

He had to beat Michael Jones.

Oscar couldn’t let that kid get away with such a dirty trick so easily. He was going to pull himself together and win this, and that would show Mike.

These were his weaker events anyway, Oscar had known this already. He, on the other hand, loved barrel racing so much it was silly. Mike was strong, but he wasn't as fast, or skilled on the back of a horse.

He could win this event. He could win the whole thing, if Mike screwed up and couldn’t place second.

“If you know the enemy,” he quoted, staring straight into his reflection, hands gripping the edges of the sink and showing off his stringy muscles, “and know yourself, you need not fear the result of a hundred battles.”

Droplets drip dropped from the tip of his nose.

“If you know yourself but not the enemy,” he continued, “for every victory gained you will also suffer a defeat.” Much like himself and Michael, he reasoned, though he’d thought they knew each other inside out by now.

Water dripped from his eyebrows into his already strained eyes.

“If you know neither the enemy nor yourself, you will succumb in every battle.”

“Shut up,” Charlie called from the other room.

“I’m trying to look clever and quote ‘The Art of War’ here,” he called back.

“Well can you quote the ‘go back to sleep’ instead?”

“That isn’t a thing.”

“Really? Well I wish it was.”

Oscar shook his head, wringing the water from his hair, and went back into the main room to choose an outfit for the day. “Well, if it’s any consolation, I’m going out for a jog. One has to clear his head and warm up properly for his grand finale.”

“Fine,” Charlie mumbled into her pillow, “hurry up and go.”

 

…

 

Oscar’s mind was clear now.

His muscles and joints were loose and warm, and he rolled his head around his shoulders to iron out any kinks, massaging one with a hand. As he cracked his knuckles he looked around to find Mike staring, though the boy quickly turned around with flushed cheeks at being caught.

Neither had said a word to each other since that night, and it had been quickly picked up on by the other competitors, who assumed it was yet another argument between the two and left them to it. No point getting in the middle of _that_ anytime soon.

Oscar gave the tiniest of smiles, allowing himself a moment of smugness despite how much he knew it was bad for him and his focus, despite how it could jinx the whole thing and cause him to come crashing down in defeat. His smirk fell.

It wasn’t his turn for a while, so Oscar settled down, leaning against the edge of the arena to watch the others. Philippines’ contestant was up first.

The three barrels stretched before him in a cloverleaf pattern already marked out by the hooves of horses, and even as he stared, his fellow competitor shot past him, already galloping forward at full speed and was round the first barrel in a flash. The thing wobbled as their foot grazed it, but it remained upright. Good. If a barrel gets knocked over, then the competitor responsible was awarded a nice five second penalty that would surely knock them down a few places.

“Time to saddle up,” he told himself as Philippines’ competitor twirled found the final barrel and bolted for the finish line. There were still quite a few contestants to go before him, but there was a lot of gear to kit his horse out in, from the specialized saddle to protective sports boots.

He wanted to take the time to make sure everything was perfect, because everything needed to be perfect if he was going to win this thing.

 

…

 

Okay, maybe he was still a little angry.

Oscar’s chest still heaved at the thought of that two-faced, no good, lying wankstain. He thought Mike genuinely cared about him, that after this was over they could’ve started all over again and had something special.

The thought almost made him drive a fist into the metal railings.

Oscar had tried to remain calm throughout the event, and for the most part, he’d managed quite well. Yes, he’d taken stupid risks, gone round the barrels a little too tight and pushed his horse almost to breaking point. But he was first now so it was all worth it.

But Mike was second and that annoyed him more than it should. Seriously? Not third? Not last? He had to be second, didn’t he? If Oscar managed to complete this last go-round problem-free, then their total points overall would be tied, and whilst they’d discussed this possibility and how it would make everyone happy, he no longer wanted Michael to be happy, or succeed. He wanted to kick dust in his lying face and spit on the ground before him.

This really wasn’t helping him, Oscar realised with a sigh as he mounted his horse for the final time.

This was supposed to be a happy moment, to feel the joy of going so fast it scared him for the last time in a few months. To look back on this month at all the wonderful memories. To revel in the prize just within his reach.

He hoped Mike fell off his horse.

Oscar pushed those thoughts from his mind and took a deep breath as he gave his own horse the get go, encouraging it with his lower body to get up into a gallop. Like the beast had been trained to do. Like they’d done together seven times now, and many more in practice. They shot into the arena and veered to the right, looping round the barrel with his right leg little more than a nanometre from the solid, metal edge.

But he made it and was soon galloping off towards the second barrel.

Another sharp turn, and his heart as in his mouth. He thought he’d be sick. This was so thrilling!

On the last barrel, though, his left shin collided with the side of the thing, and he couldn’t stop a strangled cry from escaping his lips as pain shot through him. The barrel wobbled, much to his horror, but the horse was gone before he could see if it would fall to the ground. His leg throbbed as he raced down the final stretch, and he didn’t dare turn back for fear he’d fall off.

The moment the horse was past the timer, and he was no longer against the clock, Oscar yanked at the reins and his unfortunate ride screeched to a halt. Finally feeling it was safe to turn his body around, Oscar glanced back to find the barrel still upright, like nothing had happened at all.

It was with a light heart that he slid off his horse, barely noticing the pain in his shin, like the very skin had been scraped off with a potato peeler. Who cared? He’d won.

He’d actually gone and won!

 

…

 

Mike couldn’t believe his luck.

They’d ended up tying! They’d both won and yes, whilst he’d liked to have held onto his victory, this was a rather satisfying contingency plan. It meant they could both hold the trophy proudly aloft- like their brothers in that photo- and put this stupid rivalry behind them once and for all.

Maybe they could be friends now. Maybe something else. Mike grinned like an idiot as he watched Oscar wander into the changing rooms, presumably to wipe up and cool down. There didn’t seem to be anyone else around, so he thought he would try his luck. After all, this was something they needed to straighten out.

Michael could almost feel his heart resting right there on his sleeve, and he worried for the little guy. It was fragile, but here he was, about to lay it out in front of another to hopefully not be stepped on or squished in Oscar’s big, dumb hands. It bruised easily.

Mike was silent as he crept into the changing rooms, hoping to not get noticed until he had figured out how to at least start this conversation.

Pride didn’t matter here, right? The rodeo was done and dusted and they were no longer rivals. It didn’t matter who was better or stronger or faster anymore, right?

Hopefully, because he wanted to kiss Oscar again. And hold his hands. And make that golden face light up with the most beautiful bouquet of flowers as he picked him up for their first date.

Stupid pretty boy Oscar. And stupid feelings and flutters in his chest that made him want to punch himself in the face.

Oscar was in the bathroom by the showers, practically glowing from his victory as he began to unbutton his shirt. As Mike approached, he glanced up with a sharp glare.

Michael, taking the other’s mood to be simple embarrassment, continued on with his little mission.

“Hey, um,” be began, “I just want to, you know, talk. And stuff.”

“Yes?” Oscar’s voice was short and sharp, and took the other by surprise.

“Look, dude, I owe you an explanation-”

“Oh no, there’s no need,” with a wave of a hand, and a flowery edge to his voice, Oscar seemed back to normal, but not quite and it unnerved him; “I have your actions more or less worked out by now.”

“You do?” so Oscar knew all about his… feelings. He understood them? But did he reciprocate them? This was hopeful.

“Yes, you _horrid_ little creature,” Oscar spat, “I thought you'd have had a better sense of good sportsmanship than _this_.”

What?

No, really. _What_?

Oscar huffed at his blank expression. “Kissing your rival in a half-baked attempt to mess with him and fuck with his feelings is low even for you.” He bit his lip at that, and seemed to be fighting the beginnings of tears.

“What do you mean?”

 **No**.

Oh no. Just no. Please no. This couldn't be happening. Not now. Not to him.

Mike thought he would shatter right on that very spot. Not even just his poor heart, but his entire body and soul. He would break into shards of glass and dust and scatter in the winds. This wasn’t happening. This wasn’t how things were meant to go, but that was what happened when he thought something like this could go any way but horribly wrong. He couldn’t breathe. His chest heaved and tightened, like his heart was struggling to keep working. He wanted to curl up into a ball and disappear. Why didn’t he just do that?

Oscar had completely misunderstood his intentions, and how he hated him and Mike didn’t know what to do.

“Is it that hard to understand? You’re a cheating scumbag. Don’t think a little awkward apology’s going to make up for this one, Jones. I don’t ever want you near me again! How dare you kiss me like no other had!”

All this time he’d tried his utmost hardest to make people dislike him, and now… when he wanted more than ever to lay before someone, no armour, no facade, and they hated him anyway.

If he didn’t get out of here soon, he’d burst into tears of his own.

So Michael responded the only way he knew how: with anger.

He let it burn inside him until the flames were out of control and he cared none for the consequences. He wanted to hurt Oscar as he hurt now, for the other to feel like an icy poker had plunged into his chest and was trying to scoop out his heart.

“Fuck you!” he all but screamed, “if that’s how you wanna be then fine, go to hell you fucking cunt!”

Oscar reeled as if he’d been slapped before coming back with a vengeance.

“At least apologise!” he cried, “but no, I suppose that would be too much for your stupid pride. Just go hide behind your shitty tough guy persona and avoid responsibility, like always! I hate you!” He’d dropped all pretence as tears trickled down his face, eyes red and wild.

“Why don’t you go cry into your box of ashes?”

“Go cry to Matthew! Oh wait, you can’t because he hates you too!”

Mike had to bite the inside of his mouth to keep himself from crying. He needed to get out of here. His eyes already stung and there was no way he would give Cooper the satisfaction of seeing him snivel and bleat and wail.

Michael had never been more humiliated in his life, and there was nothing he could say now to swing the situation back in his favour.

“Fuck you!” he cried again, squeezing his wrist to stop him from shoving the other over. “You know what? You wanna know what?” He waved a finger under Oscar’s nose. “I ain’t lettin’ you win this. You hear me? You ain’t even gonna tie with me. You don’t belong here and don’t deserve to tie with me.”

“Well what are you going to do about it?” Oscar raised an eyebrow, secure in the belief that- no- there was nothing Michael could do about it.

“Well I’ll tell you, dickhead,” Michael stormed off, back towards the door and away from the other. He was at breaking point now. “I’m gonna enter the bull riding. You know what that means? I’m gonna get more points and you can go fuck yourself.” He turned to leave, but a shout rooted him to the ground.

“Hey, guess what? I’ll be entering too! That’ll show you!”

Both regretted this decision immediately, and had their anger not burned so strong, they might have allowed the icy grip of fear to take hold as they contemplated what they’d both decided to do.

But alas, all the two could think was how there was no possibility of backing down now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I mean, I’m guessing a lot of people saw this coming, the two of them entering the bull riding, that is. In fact, I’m pretty sure I stated that would happen before even starting the fic so y’all were probably just waiting for this to happen. As for their little argument… I’m sorry. It’s not my fault I’m writing a pair of knuckleheads.  
> But no, they can’t have a happy ending… at least not just yet. Possibly. Maybe. Read on to find out. ...When I've written it.  
> Poor Michael. I feel like I’d do the same though, not bother with an explanation and just go straight to swearing up a storm. Still, I kinda wanna just bash these idiots’ heads together. But seriously, hell hath no fury like these two scorned.  
> Who doesn’t love the whole miscommunication trope? Huh? Yeah me neither but it’s in this fic so tough mantitties.


	23. Llano Estacado

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eh, sorry for the delay. I’d burnt out slightly so decided to work on my thirty day OTP challenge fills, which are coming along nicely, mostly because I’m cheating and doing them whenever, then publishing them. Don’t look at me that way, it’s just I’ve started this before and lost steam pretty quickly, so I want to do at least twenty before publishing them and putting myself on a deadline. Still, I’m on day eleven now so feel nice and refreshed to continue with this.  
> Also, I kept forgetting I still hadn’t uploaded this and now I feel bad because people were left on an unintentional cliffhanger. But here we are, at last. The next chapter.

Mike barely made it outside before the tremors in his legs sent him to the ground.

No one was around, thankfully, so no one could hear his sobs that erupted into coughs that threatened to make him throw up. He covered his mouth and soon the back of his hand was wet with saliva. Why? Why this? Everything had gone wrong in the time it took to take a piss and he was only now able to process just what he had said.

The thought made him want to be sick even more.

Why the hell had he gone and said that? That he’d… Michael had never been this scared before, not about anything that had happened, but this? Entering the bull riding? He hadn’t wanted to do such a thing in four years.

He wasn’t going to back out though, not a chance. He had to beat Oscar after what he did to him. It would all be worth it then.

Mike still burned with the humiliation of their argument, his chest ached from the shards of heart tearing through it, and had he not been preoccupied with letting out his emotion, he’d have hardened his heart forever there and then.

As it was, Mike sobbed into the concrete. His fists balled and he had to restrain himself from pummelling the ground and, just beyond his own howling, he could hear matching noises coming from inside.

He hated how his stomach lurched. What the hell was Oscar’s problem? What had even gone through his mind to decide the only thing on Mike’s was beating him, and would fake attraction to do so? And why just launch into him like that without giving him a chance to defend himself? And to say that about his brother?

Maybe Oscar was evil. Maybe he was sent to punish Mike for something he did in the past? Knowing Oscar really did feel like a punishment, now more so than ever, a siren, pulling him in with his charm and then destroying him. Pure fucking evil.

Michael was so glad he never not the chance to confess his feelings, because if Oscar knew that would just be another means to torment him. It was now just another thing to keep nice and hidden for the rest of his life.

He was never going to fall in love again.

Never. Absolutely never. He was never going to put himself through this again because there is absolutely no point in repeating his mistakes.

In the back of his little bubble of misery, he heard Oscar’s footsteps, and promptly scrambled up. There was no way in hell anyone- particularly that dick- was seeing him in this state, so he ducked towards the stables to hide.

Annoyingly, Oscar seemed to be following him, so Mike dived into the bales of hay in the corner just as he was entering, ignoring the itching and stinging and confused whinnies from the horses. Carefully as he could under the circumstances, Mike peeked out, thankful that his sunglasses were protecting his eyes from the pricks and pokes of the hay.

He watched in silence as Oscar saddled up a horse- a tan called Suzie- blinking back tears before mounting the beast and galloping out of the stables, leaving a resounding quiet in his wake.

Mike, though he told himself he didn’t care, climbed out of his little hiding place and stumbled over to the window to watch him go. For some reason, Oscar was charging straight towards the fields and farmland at the back of the fair, and if Mike didn’t know any better, he’d say the other was about to ride out into the wild.

Still, it wasn’t his business, and he didn’t care, so Mike elected to crawl back towards the bales of hay, wiggling his way towards the back where he could continue to sob in privacy, only pausing briefly so as not to attract the attentions of Matt and Sam, who came in and searched the place on their apparent mission to find him and finally congratulate him.

Mike didn’t want to deal with them- or for them to ask why he’d been crying- so waited for them to leave before seeking the comfort of his horse companions.

 

…

 

Oscar was, indeed, heading out into the wild, across the plains of the Llano Estacado as fast as his horse could manage. He shot past fields of cattle and horses, out into seemingly endless flat territory.

There was nothing but himself and the wind and Suzie beneath him. The landscape was empty save for thin, brown grass and the occasional shrub. It was a sea of beige and olive, silent save for the thundering of hooves, and Oscar knew he could go and get his thoughts straight here, and be alone to cry.

The tears were already flowing now, and he could barely focus as he rode. Each blink blurred his vision further, and his shirt sleeve was already damp from rubbing his face.

What had he done?

Oscar wasn’t a fool [well, he clearly was, but that was besides the point]; he could see Mike’s horror at being accused the way he was, the hurt and the betrayal in that face of his. He messed up big time and was honestly contemplating finding a nice hole to crawl into and just stay there where he couldn’t mess everything up.

Mike never lied and Oscar didn’t know why that surprised him. He lied about himself and his true personality, sure, but he wasn’t cruelly dishonest and he wouldn’t play someone for personal gain. He wouldn’t cheat like that and Oscar didn’t know why he believed Hunapo on that when they didn’t even believe it themselves. They'd said it as a joke, but Oscar wasn't too good at taking jokes.

Oscar kept riding, on and on until he came to the very edge. The Caprock Escarpment. In fact, he was so lost in miserable thought that he almost didn’t see it coming, and very nearly rode right off the edge of the cliff.

Yanking on Suzie’s reigns, he came to a halt metres from the drop, dismounting and making his way over, slowly but surely.

The cliff began at a steep drop, one that would be sure to at least leave him with broken bones, before ever so gradually levelling out into yet more flat landscape stretching towards the afternoon sun, slowly sinking in the distance. Already there was a pale orange band separating the olive plains from the deep blue sky, and had he bothered to look behind him, Oscar would’ve seen the iron clouds back past the fair even, moving ever so slightly closer each passing hour.

But Oscar didn’t care in the slightest as he sat at the edge of the cliff, feet dangling down towards the swirl of green and brown below, contemplating just how he could make things right, and just how he was supposed to survive the most dangerous eight seconds in sport.

 

…

 

Oscar did eventually notice the storm clouds, when they were right on top of him and fat raindrops splashed onto the rim of his hat, a few more opportunistic ones landing right down the back of his collar so he jumped up with a shriek. When had it started raining?

Within seconds he’d bounded over to his horse and mounted her, disturbing her quiet grassy lunch with a rather loud- but eloquent- string of curses. He had to get back to the fair before the whole place flooded, because he knew what happened when a storm this big hit earth this arid, not to mention he felt miserable enough without getting soaked.

Oscar tried not to panic as he urged Suzie into a gallop; after all, it was only a little storm. Water would pool in every dip and basin, forming lakes where there’d not been before, but it wasn’t like a tidal wave was about to sweep him away for good. Even the thunder and lightening was far off in the distance for now, and though, God, this was inconvenient, he wasn’t in any real danger. He told himself twice but still felt nervous.

Just best to hurry up and get back inside.

The rain stung his face as he galloped, made all the more worse when his hat flew off his head and disappeared into the darkness. Fuck. Fucking fuckity fuck. The thunder’s growl joined the roar of Suzie’s hooves and the near-constant barrage of rain that had soaked through every item of clothing he wore until he was an ice statue.

The water was swirling around them both now, kicked up by bullets of rain and the horse’s hooves and Oscar had to wonder if he was going to drown here. There wasn’t a chance of things getting too deep, but one could drown in a very small amount of water and there was more than enough here.

His worries would’ve been reinforced once the horse threw him in a spooked fit, had his mind not been sent into a mess of panic where he couldn’t even cry out.

Oscar landed in a shallow playa lake, hard and almost smashing his elbow to bits. Even then, he couldn’t make a sound. The wind would take it anyway. All he could do was watch in despair as his horse disappeared into the rain and mist.

 

…

 

“Ah what the fuck!” Michael screeched, darting back towards the barn he’d finally crawled out of a few minutes earlier. Yes, he’d heard the rain on the rafters, in fact, it had lulled him into a peaceful doze, but no he’d not realised just how badly the sky was leaking until he’d tried walking home in the stuff. What? He’d texted Sam a few hours ago that he was celebrating and that she and Matt should go back to the hotel without him. Back when the weather was nice.

Now it was dark and freezing and just how the hell was he supposed to get home? Maybe ask Sam to pick him up, and Matt to make some of that hotel room coco. He could change into his pyjamas, borrow one of the hotel dressing gowns, and snuggle under that sheet thing on his bed. Maybe they could all watch a film together and just try to dry off.

A particularly fat drop caught him in the eye, and he launched himself into the barn in a fury of foul language.

“Fuck man I’m getting a bukakke off the fucking sky what the fuck kind of Guantanamo Bay waterboarding bullshit-”

“What’s a bukakke?”

Mike screamed, wheeling round at the sound of the tiny voice that had asked that question. Sure enough, Charlie was curled up next to one of the horses, also soaked.

“None of your business,” he snapped, “and what the hell are you still doing here anyway? Why the hell aren’t you back at the hotel?”

“How can I get back?” exclaimed Charlie, “Oscar’s missing and I can’t walk home alone. Besides, I need to find him!”

“Oscar hasn’t come back?” Mike asked, trying his best not to look out of the barn’s grubby little windows.

Charlie got up and bounded over to him, grabbing the edges of his shirt. “You know where he went?”

“He went of riding in the plain hours ago, but I thought he’d be back by now.”

“Did you see him come back?”

“No, but I was lowkey asleep for a bit.”

Charlie glared at him. “Is the horse he took back in the stables?”

“How the hell did you get so smart? Um...” A quick glance around the place confirmed that, yes, Suzie was still missing too. “No, it’s not here either.”

“So he’s still out there?” Charlie waved an arm in the direction of the window looking directly out onto the farmland and plains. “With a- like you said- bukakke outside.”

“Please stop saying that,” Mike whined, “Huna’s gonna break my legs if they catch you saying that.”

“But the fact of the matter is Oscar’s still out there.”

Mike shrugged. “Maybe they found shelter in another part of the park?”

“I searched everywhere! Here was the last place I looked.”

“Well you’re an idiot then. Because he was here earlier.”

“Fight me!”

Shaking his head, Mike made his way over to the window to look over the waterlogged fields. “They’ll be fine, okay?” However, even as he said those words, Mike could make out a shadow barrelling towards the fair. A particularly large, hairy shadow, with four legs.

“Suzie!”

“Where’s Oscar?” Charlie whined next to him, and Mike squinted to see that, yes, Suzie was indeed missing her rider.

“Fuck. Well that’s not good,” he groaned, moving to saddle up his own horse. Just what had that boy gotten himself into this time?

He’d better still be alive, or Mike was gonna kick his ass.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If any of my descriptions of places places seem shit or inaccurate, don’t blame me I’ve never been to America. I just hop between soggy little islands googling shit.
> 
> Also yeah this story wasn’t dramatic enough, sorry. I’m just taking a little detour from all the rodeo and drama to add more drama. Plus, I needed something to break up all the Goddamn crying. I’m guessing this bit wasn’t expected at all. Who was thinking I’d go straight into the bull riding? 
> 
> It’d be a shame if someone… were to drown before that.
> 
> Man Charlie is learning some new words on this trip. Thanks a lot, Mike.


	24. High water

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look, I’m not slowing up or anything, it’s just I wanted to leave the last chapter on a cliffhanger for a bit, and had the thirty day OTP challenge [both of them] to deal with, and I burnt out a little. Not to mention this chapter is long and difficult to write, and I fear the next few will be too. Sorry about that.

Mike thundered across the plains, kicking up mud and splashes of water in his relentless search for his rival. It had taken a while to calm Suzie down, the horse’s eyes wild as she kicked and bit at anyone who came near her, but soon she realised the two kids weren’t going to hurt her, and so Charlie was currently back in the barn feeding her to distract the child from her own worry. Sam was on her way though, so Mike knew she’d soon be looked after and was safe and dry.

Unlike her brother.

Where the hell could Oscar be?

It would be nearly impossible to find him in this weather, and Mike wished he’d just had the sense to stay back at the barn and phone for the police or air ambulance or something. But here he was. Hey, careful planning was never Mike’s strong point. It would be no good turning back now, so he’d just have to give it his best shot and at least find a clue of some sorts to the other’s fate.

He hated Oscar, make no mistake about that. But he was still a human trapped out in this storm, who might freeze or drown or accidentally walk off a cliff he was unable to see before him. Mike couldn’t let him just perish out here alone, not when he still had feelings for the prick too, and wasn’t made of stone anyhow. At the very least, he needed Oscar to be alive and well so he could kick his ass at bull riding.

A sly, stupid thought crept into his mind, one he quickly dismissed though the guilt lingered.

What if he just let Oscar die out here? That way, no one would know about their conversation, there would be no rival to tie with, and he would not need to enter the bull riding. Quite convenient, really.

Of course, that was just downright evil and he had no intention of going through with such a plan.

Now he was more determined than ever to find Oscar alive. If he didn't he'd just blame himself.

His horse seemed to be struggling in the fast, shallow rivers that had formed in the past few hours, and Mike prayed it wouldn’t topple over, or that would be two more souls up shit creek. The rain soaked into his clothes had doubled his weight, and his hands were too numb with cold to grip the reins properly. No wonder Oscar had been unable to stay on his horse. The effort to concentrate on looking through endless landscape as his eyes were assaulted, whilst riding a horse, after everything else that had happened today, it was a wonder Mike was still awake at this point. He always felt exhausted after crying, and right now it was a wonder he wasn’t comatose.

A splash of light tan stood out against a sea of inky brown and grey, which upon further inspection turned out to be a dirtied stetson blowing and tumbling along the bank of a newly formed lake. This particular lake stretched out for some miles in front of him, and he had to wonder if this was where Oscar was stuck. He bent down dangerously to pick the hat up, tying its string to his saddle for safekeeping.

“Oscar!” he cried, “are ya there? Speak to me!”

Nothing.

Glancing around, Mike couldn’t find a single sign of life, so decided to venture further into the lake. It wasn’t too deep anyway. Nothing got deep out here.

“Come on boy,” he urged his horse, “it’s just a little water ya weenie.” Not that either were that happy about the situation though.

But he kept going, calling out as the wind simply ripped his words from him. He was going to find Oscar, he just had to. Even if he had to search the whole night.

But that was the thing about being out in this weather, on land this flat and vast: he could go in circles searching the same square miles or so, and never realise until his horse dropped from exhaustion.

“Oscar!” he bellowed. But the boy was nowhere to be found. Mike didn’t want his sly little mind to start invading him with sickening thoughts, but it was too late. He wondered if Oscar was already dead. He wondered if Oscar would ever be found. Or his body, at least.

He growled to himself, clenching a fist to resist the urge to throw his hat into the water, and carried on. He had to be here somewhere.

And there he was.

After what felt like- and could very well have been- hours of searching, Mike finally found a lump just sticking out of the water that wasn’t a plant. Well, it was, in a way, but this time it was a plant being clinged to for safety.

Oscar’s head was barely above the water, mouth open and filled dangerously, and even from where Mike was standing, he looked dead, skin pale and grey. His clothes were absolutely soaked, but he didn’t have the strength to shiver as rain pummelled his face. His eyes were open ever so slightly, but there was only white.

“No!” screamed Mike, stomach dropping to his feet. He pushed his horse onwards, ignoring the debris floating past, desperate to make it. He couldn’t be dead, he just couldn’t!

“Please, Cooper,” he reached down to grab the body, legs straining as they struggled to keep a grip on his saddle. Deciding that wasn’t working, he slid down, hissing as the cold water rushed up to his waist, and grabbed Oscar with both hands. Hoisting the boy onto the horse, so he was laying across in front of the saddle, Mike mounted the beast once more and began making his way to the edge of the lake. There he could at least try to administer first aid he didn’t know how to perform from the banks.

Not for the first time, Mike had absolutely no idea if things could go right from here.

 

…

 

Oscar, however, was not dead, but merely passed out from the exhaustion of wandering in circles for hours. He’d collapsed against the tree by sheer luck, fully expecting to fall right into the water and drown, and in his blinded, zombified state, he was willing to let that happen. He was going to die here anyway. Why put it off?

Though of course, the shrub scratched him to bits but didn’t kill him.

He didn’t think sleeping had made much difference. Everything was still dark, of course, and the pain and torment followed him into his dreams.

What he’d not been expecting was to wake up again. What he’d never even contemplated was waking up to Mike’s lips on his own. Oscar had assumed it was part of the dream, that horrid nightmare of drowning after being thrown from waves shaped like a bull, so it would make sense for his brain to torment him with the fact that he’d hurt Michael badly too, and that he was a terrible, terrible person.

But when trembling palms started pounding against his chest, Oscar wondered just what the hell was going on.

When he felt freezing lips on his mouth again, blowing and exhaling, he opened his eyes ever so slightly to find Mike’s face right against his, mouth wide open and glaring down at him like he was dead. Not that Oscar could blame him.

When Mike leaned in again, Oscar placed a hand over his mouth and shoved him back.

“Don’t even think about it.”

“Jeez, you ungrateful prick. I thought you were dead,” Mike grumbled. Oscar thought he was going to die anyway. He felt like he’d been trampled half to death then beaten with a pipe.

“Didn’t my heartbeat or pulse give it away?” Oscar rolled his eyes, “or didn’t you bother to check?”

“I couldn’t feel anything,” muttered Mike, “you’re cold and weren’t moving. I tried finding a pulse but-”

Oscar just gave a nod; what the hell had he gone and snapped at him for? Mike had just saved his life, more than likely. “Look, I apologise,” he began, “I owe you my life and I thank you for- well, you could’ve died out here too. Why did you come to look for me?”

Mike shrugged. “Charlie was worried about your dumb ass.”

“Really?”

“Hey, I’m not the nicest guy in the world, but what monster would I be if I just let you drown?”

Oscar nodded at that. Michael wasn’t a bad person at all, and he damn well knew that. But now? He had no idea what to say. Mike had risked everything to save him, even after Oscar had trampled all over his feelings, and he knew he needed to set things straight. He was going to apologize to Mike for completely destroying him, not trusting him, not even giving him a chance to explain himself. He was going to tell Mike everything whilst he was too woozy to overthink everything and clam up.

But before he could utter a word, Mike was speaking again.

“So… ya gonna quit while you’re still alive? The rodeo, I mean.”

A flare of indignation simmered in his stomach, and before he could stop himself, Oscar was talking. But there was no apology. “Why on earth would I?” he scoffed, crawling away ever so slightly and trying not to wince from the struggle of the movement.

“I don’t know,” replied Mike defensively, “because you almost lost a battle against Goddamn water and you want to go against a bull?”

“So do you,” Oscar gave a pout.

“And which of us can still stand?”

Well that wasn’t fair. Oscar could see Mike was exhausted too, swaying in the pounding rain that wasn’t letting up anytime soon.

“I’m not backing down.”

Mike wrinkled his nose. “Neither am I.”

“I am going to beat you,” he replied childishly, because he simply had no other answer.

“Oh please!” Mike rocked back and forth on his knees as he spoke, punctuating his sentences with violent gesticulation. “You are too weak for that event! You’re inexperienced and you will die for no Goddamn reason except to prove you’re better than me, which you’re not. Stop this shit right now!”

Maybe it was out of concern, but Oscar only saw a patronising little kid. What did he know?

“Well you’re just as much of a rookie,” he sniffed, “I don’t care how long you’ve been in this game, you’re still a little boy trying to fill his brothers’ boots and I am going to win.”

“Fuck you, Cooper.”

 

…

 

After an hour or so huddling under the horse in awful, awkward silence, the two finally agreed to try and find their way back to the fair. Oscar was still in bad shape, and they were both numb inside and out, but at least they’d had a chance to rest themselves and get some strength back. Plus, if he had to spend another minute sat beside Oscar, neither of them saying a word, he thought he would go mad.

Mike insisted on Oscar riding the horse, him leading with a hand on the reins, and once that was settled they continued on in silence.

Mike was struggling to understand what he did wrong, but he supposed Oscar was just that much of a snide, petty little boy who couldn’t admit his shortcomings. He wasn’t asking him if he was thinking of quitting to belittle him, oh no, because after everything that happened, Mike was struggling to get over him. It had only been a few hours, after all. He was trying to protect Oscar- and himself- from getting hurt again. Oscar was injured, after all, so he should pull out, go home, and forget all about this.

But he’d not worded things entirely correctly and the twat had jumped down his throat. Now Mike could understand how his friends and family felt, he supposed.

He was scared to do the bull riding, and he’d been riding animals all his life. Oscar hadn’t, but he had just taken a battering. Mike was no medical expert, but he wouldn’t put it past Oscar to have secret injuries he was hiding, or didn’t even know about yet. Mike himself was certain he’d have a cold after this, maybe even a fever. And just how the hell does a guy compete in that state?

He wasn’t going to pull out though; not before Cooper.

It took a good while to get back, due to getting lost several times in the wide expanse of nothing but rain and flat land, and even the rain eventually left them. The only times they talked were to argue on the direction they were going, both just as hopelessly lost but not willing to admit it, of course. But eventually they saw the lights of the fair in the distance, and Mike hopped in the saddle, Oscar clinging to his back but still not saying a word as he urged his horse into a trot, the poor creature long past being able to gallop.

Sam was waiting for them, along with Matthew and a teary Charlie, and several police cars and ambulances, officers milling about, talking on radios and presumably planning the best way to sweep the area looking for them. Or their bodies. Mike wasn’t sure how pessimistic the atmosphere had been before the two boys had come into view.

Neither had time to so much as greet their families before they were pulled from their horse by paramedics, who threw silver blankets around them and led the pair to ambulances to be treated. Mike wasn’t fully paying attention as they checked him all over for signs of injury- trying his best not to drop off to sleep- but it seemed that neither he nor Oscar- being examined in the back of a different ambulance- were in any immediate danger and didn’t need to go to hospital for further tests.

When the paramedics were done with him, they let Mike go to find his brother and cousin, and let them know he was fine.

Things became rather difficult to stomach when Sam lunged at him to crush him in a tight hug.

“You’re a hero!” she exclaimed, “you saved that boy’s life!”

“Yeah...” He supposed he did, but the praise still made Mike bristle for some reason. Maybe it was the attention? Unless Mike was on an animal, he wasn’t a fan of people gawking at him. Judging him. He really didn’t like being the centre of attention in most cases, writhing at the eyes on him and how disorientated they made him feel, like glaring headlights right in his face.

“That was stupidly reckless of you,” Matthew sighed, before he too pulled Mike into a hug, “but brave. Alfred would so be proud of you.”

Mike teared up at that, blinking back the sting in his eyes though it didn’t help. Alfred probably wouldn’t have fallen in love with an absolute cockstain and risked his own life to save them even after they broke his heart. Actually, scratch that, he would. Repeatedly.

“Come on,” Sam threw an arm around him, squeezing his shoulder tightly, “let’s get you dried off. Um, unless you want to talk to your friend first.”

“No, no,” Mike tried not to look too horrified as he shook his head, “please, I just wanna go home.”

 

…

 

Oscar stared at the ceiling, eyes heavy and aching, but he couldn’t go to sleep just yet. Not only did the bandage around his head itch, but his mind was blurred and racing like a drunk driver. How could a day go so wrong so fast? Oh, right, because he overthought everything and tended to leap to the absolute worst conclusions, where everyone except himself was concerned.

Funny enough, Oscar did have a low opinion of himself right now. He hadn’t even managed to fix his mistake after Michael literally saved him from dying in the middle of nowhere, simply devolving into squabbling once more. Was he a terrible person, or did Michael have this effect on everyone? He didn’t want to blame the boy outright though, especially since it was his own fault.

And this wasn’t even beginning to touch upon what they’d both signed up to do out of pure stubbornness.

Oscar had had all afternoon to think about going up against a raging bull, and each time the thought of sitting on top of such a beast entered his mind, his blood ran cold with fear. He would die out there. Michael might die too, and then they could both argue with each other in the afterlife after completely ruining their family’s legacy.

Two young stars, cut down in their prime. Like Alfred. Like his parents. Like Logan.

How the hell was he supposed to tell Hunapo? He’d had to confess to Charlie before she’d let him turn the light off to sleep, and she wasn’t happy in the slightest. She’d screamed, she’d cried, she’d gotten them so many noise complaints but Oscar couldn’t care about that.

Why had he opened his mouth? To save his stupid pride? To cover up his mistake? Now Charlie was certain she would lose her last relative all because Oscar wanted to settle a score.

Hunapo wouldn’t have any sympathy either, not that Oscar was looking for such a thing. Huna wasn’t a shouter, but boy they would probably have something to say on the subject, something that would most likely make him feel smaller than if they had shouted at him. On the other hand, they could stop talking to him, to let him know how disappointed they were that he would do such a thing.

Just how the hell was he supposed to go up against a bull? He didn’t know the first thing about staying on a spinning, stomping bull, or how it’d be different or similar to bronc riding. In fact, what the hell was he doing trying to sleep at a time like this? And since he didn’t seem able to fall asleep, he might as well start practicing.

“I’m going for a walk,” he told Charlie as he sat up. Next to him, the little girl stirred, whining as the warmth of her brother disappeared.

“Don’t go,” she moaned into the pillow, “just sleep.”

“It’s alright,” he replied in his search for a clean pair of clothes, “I’m not going outside, just downstairs. I won’t be gone more than an hour.”

In the hotel bar there was a mechanical bull, hardly the real thing but good enough to train on. He’d start off easy though, nothing that would give him yet another injury, just enough to tire him out so he could actually sleep without worrying.

Oscar was already half asleep when he crept through the bar doors, place empty the hour before dawn except for another boy climbing onto the bull in the corner. He barely noticed him at first in the gloom, whirring of the bull lost under the roar of the air conditioning.

They noticed each other at the same time, Mike’s eyes widening as the distraction caused him to lose his grip, and he fell to the floor with a thump.

Mike didn’t bother trying again. He made sure to barge past Oscar as he left, not saying a word and slamming the door shut behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As much as I find miscommunication frustrating, overused, stress-fests I like using it purely because I know everyone else hates it too. And yeah, they’re both still alive and entering the bull riding. But will they be alive after the bull riding? Who knows? Oh wait, I do. Haha.


	25. Hung up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oooh, back at it smashing out these chapters. I’ve missed this fic. Warning for suicide mentions in this chapter, not sure I warned people about that before so here.

 

Hunapo was silent, and Oscar wasn’t surprised.

He’d had to tell them before Charlie let something slip, so the moment they were out of hospital, struggling to manoeuvre in their cumbersome wheelchair, he’d sat them to one side and told them everything, from his and Mike’s argument to getting lost to what they were both about to do. Hunapo was- naturally- relieved to find him alive after all this, and willing to nurse him over his broken heart and try to provide advice that wouldn’t backfire this time as Oscar wallowed in self-pity and graceful tears, glad to finally have an adult around to fuss over him again.

But when he mentioned the outcome of their little fight, and how he was to compete tomorrow, Hunapo went silent. In fact, they didn’t say a word until well into the evening.

“It’s the first jump that most people mess up on,” Hunapo spoke up, so sudden Oscar jumped in his seat.

“Pardon?”

Hunapo shifted slightly, sprawled out on the bed with their cast propped up on a pillow. Their bruises had faded now, and their ribs were well on the mend, but that leg of theirs still looked painful. Huna had teary eyes, had done all day as they glared at the boy, cold and distant. When they spoke, their voice croaked and cracked. “You have to ride the bucking, not the turn,” they explained, “focusing on the rear of the bull and putting pressure on your legs allows you to have more control, and the turn will sort itself out.”

Oscar nodded. “Thank- thank you.”

Charlie was nowhere to be found, having excused herself to be free of the crushing atmosphere of their hotel room.

“Practising on cattle not bred to fight helps you learn the feel of the animal without the risk, and riding bareback on horses helps you develop the muscles in your legs to get good grip.” They pulled their mouth into a frown; “the latter you’ve been doing for years, but the former… the night before the event is far too late to start.”

“Well why didn’t you mention it earlier?”

Huna didn’t reply immediately. “I was angry.”

“I suspect you still are.”

“Oh I am,” they agreed, “I know I cannot change your mind on this, because you’re as stubborn as your damned brother, and won’t back down before young Michael. But you can bet your sorry arse I’m angry.”

Oscar nodded miserably.

“You promised you’d never enter,” spat Hunapo, “you told me you’d never dream of doing such a thing. And then you break that promise and don’t even consult me until the day before?”

“I didn’t want you to worry,” Oscar reasoned, “not in your condition.”

“Don’t patronise me,” they growled at him, “you damned Cooper.”

“Yes, I’m a damned Cooper!” Oscar shot up, pacing the room and waving his hands. “Throwing my life away just like my idiot brother; I heard it all before! We’re all stupid and reckless and won’t stop until we’re dead!”

Hunapo looked away, biting their lip and glowering at the wall. “You _are_ an idiot, but Logan was more than just carelessly reckless.”

Oscar stopped. “What do you mean?”

“Help me up, child,” Hunapo held out a hand, and Oscar pulled them into a sitting position, gently as he could. He sat next to his guardian, drumming his fingers against the bedsheets. He glanced over at Hunapo in apprehension, not entirely sure he wanted to hear what they had to say.

It took a few moments for Hunapo to bring themselves to begin, taking a deep breath before speaking. “Do you remember the night we got engaged?”

“I don’t remember getting engaged to you.”

“Me and Logan, silly boy. Do you remember?”

“The happiest night of your lives? Our lives? Sure.”

“It was the happiest night of _my_ life. Logan? Well… I’d just like to think some of it was happy. A minute. I’ll take a minute at the very least. Something for him to cling to. Anything, really.”

“What do you mean?” Oscar didn’t want to know where this was going. As far as he was concerned, that night was the last time all four of them were truly happy, when everything was perfect before life just crumbled around them all. Hunapo couldn’t just go and take those memories away from him, right?

“What I never told you was that Logan was suicidal.” Hunapo’s eyes watered with each blink now, and Oscar thought he would be sick.

“You’re joking, right? Please say you are.”

“I’m afraid not,” Hunapo seemed to squirm under his gaze.

“So what are you saying? That Logan dying was deliberate?”

Hunapo bit their lip. “He never told me what happened in prison, but whatever he experienced, it messed him up, and you know how he is. Wouldn't tell me a thing- wouldn't want me knowing the details- nevermind a therapist. Since when did Logan get help for any of his problems? No, he just bottles them up until he’s completely broken inside.”

“And tries to...” Oscar nodded.

“What he did tell me was that he failed us.”

Oscar stared at the other in horror. “Oh he didn’t think that for real, did he?”

“Mmm, I suspect he wanted to end his life to stop disappointing us, but just because we were disappointed in him for one stupid mistake, that didn’t mean he failed us. Logan and thinking just didn't mix, really.” Hunapo tried to smile at that, wiping their eyes.

“So what has this got to do with your engagement night?” asked Oscar.

“Oh, everything.” And that was all Hunapo said on the subject for a full minute. “Remember when we went inside and you and Charlie were still playing music out by the fire?”

“Yes,” Oscar pulled a face, “I suspected you both needed some time alone, and that going in the caravan would potentially scar me for life.”

“Well that was the plan, but Logan said he just wanted to sleep, so we dozed off for a bit, and when I woke up again, he was sitting there on the edge of the bed with these pills in his hand looking all serious.” They winced at the memory. “At first I thought they were some leftover steroids but when I asked him about it he got all panicky and you know he can’t think well when he panics. Terrible liar too.”

“Well, it was why he went to prison in the first place, not thinking,” Oscar commented.

“He didn't tell me he was about to overdose,” continued Hunapo, “but it wasn’t hard to work out, and Logan didn’t even bother to deny it.”

“That must’ve been… harrowing for you both.”

Hunapo nodded. “I took those pills and burnt them, when I went out to tell you to go to sleep. I made him promise to not try again.”

“And you believed that promise?”

“Well at the time I didn’t know a promise from a Cooper was a promise from a Goddamn _liar_ ,” Hunapo snapped.

“Okay, ouch.” Oscar shuffled away ever so slightly to nurse his wounded pride.

“And I was an idiot,” Hunapo continued, ignoring his hurt feelings, “I believed him at face value because Logan is a man who likes letting people take him at face value. Why would this be any different? I don’t know. I thought my love could maybe magically cure everything like some naive teen,” they bit their lip, “it was only when I was sat in the arena for that last event that I realised he was about to try again.”

“And by then it was too late to stop him,” Oscar finished.

Hunapo nodded, blinking back tears they tried to hide. Oscar wanted to cry too. Logan dying was the worst thing to happen to him, and he didn’t know if he preferred believing it was a freak accident or knowing his brother had planned his own death. Had he expected it to be so gruesome though? Logan had probably expected to go in an instant, a head wound or something just as quick.

“I don’t want to enter,” he insisted, “not really. It’s my pride, you know? I do plan to come out alive though.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fuck the bull riding's in the next chapter oh shet.


	26. Bull Rider

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope to finish this fic by the end of this year. Can I do it? Probably not but there’s hope. I mean, this chapter is the bull riding one so it’s all kicking off now and after that there’s only a tiny bit to go. Oh boy I’m so excited.

 

This wasn’t happening.

This was a joke, a bad dream, his mind or theirs trying to trick him into thinking his worst nightmare was disgustingly real. If it was real then he’d be sick into his breakfast.

“You are kidding, right?”

Hunapo shook their head, giving a grimace and probably wishing they were anywhere else right now, maybe hidden away in their massive fucking mouth along with their foot. “I’m sorry. I thought you and Sam knew about this. But to be honest, I only found out about this yesterday, and I dare say Oscar is the more open of the two when it comes to their increasing mistakes.” ' _And_ _my_ _own_ ', their face seemed to say.

“Indeed.” Matthew glared into his breakfast, ignoring the hum of those busy chattering in the restaurant area, presumably about the upcoming event. The highlight of the rodeo. The event his dipshit little brother hadn’t told him he was entering.

What had gone wrong? What had happened to make him change his mind when he’d been so firm about never entering? He suspected the little Cooper boy had something to do with it, but right now he was just trying his best to process this, and not faint.

“Why?” he asked, voice in shreds, “why would he do this to-” no, it wasn’t about him, but he thought his world was about to crash down around him. Dread filled his veins and his heart sunk in his chest, but he couldn’t quite believe it was real, not yet. He would, soon enough, but his body and mind was too scared to face it completely just yet, even when he himself tried. The quiet rage was there too though, bubbling away inside of him.

“What happened between them?” he asked instead.

Hunapo seemed visibly uncomfortable at the question. “It’s not my place to say,” came the simple reply. “I mean, I can tell you there was an argument, but I’m afraid you’ll have to ask Michael and see what he’s willing to tell you.”

“I can’t talk to him,” Matthew whispered, “I’m so angry right now.”

Hunapo nodded. “I understand, I really do, and you’re probably not gonna like this advice, but I advise you  _do_ talk to him.”

“How-”

“Just in case something happens.” A wretched silence fell between the two for a moment. “I don’t want to be a prophet of doom, but if- if he- would you really want the last thing you say to him be an argument?”

“No,” admitted Matthew.

“He’ll want his big brother there for him too,” continued Hunapo with the smallest of smiles, “to give him advice and support.”

“I’m afraid I can’t give him all that much advice,” Matthew grimaced. “Never entered this.”

“What about Sam?”

Matthew nodded. “She’ll know. Oh fucking hell they’re both doing this stupid-” he stopped. His life was glass, everything on the verge of tumbling and smashing into shards that would destroy him. “I’m going to lose them...”

“Oh come now,” Huna tried, “you must have more faith in them, right?”

“Sam? Sure, but even freak accidents can happen.” He shook his head. “Mike? He’s never ridden a real bull in his life. All the advice Sam and me have for him is not going to save him. He’ll die, your boy will die and it will all be for nothing but a stupid fight.”

Hunapo didn’t say a word as they watched him stand up, leaving a half-eaten breakfast and a heavy silence in his wake. His legs were jelly and he was still going to be sick, if he didn't make his knuckles bleed from punching whatever inanimate objects were unfortunate enough to get in his way. Matthew ignored Hunapo and the rest of the room, stumbling outside and wondering where his idiot brother was hiding now, if he and Sam had already left for the arena and if he had a hope of tracking them down.

But, just this once, luck was on his side.

Matt caught his brother in the hallway outside his room, already in full gear and dwarfed by his protective vest. It didn’t look right. Mike looked like a child dressing up as his hero for halloween, not the athlete he was and Matt wanted to cry at the sight.

But he didn’t. He knew this wasn’t the time, that he mustn’t say or do anything to start an argument before this event. If Mike survived, of course, he’d get the bollocking of the century.

“If you’re here to-” He didn’t let Mike finish, pulling his brother into a hug to be met with only the weakest of protests. Mike wrapped one arm around him, clutching the back of his shirt like he used to as a kid, when he was little and frightened, and he couldn’t blame the boy.

“Let’s go talk to Sam, okay?” he muttered to his brother.

 

…

 

Natalya supposed she should’ve booked her tickets already, but there was no harm in booking at the airport. Anything to get away before the stupid bull riding started. She may not know a thing about rodeo, but she remembered _that_ event all too well, and it was best for her to be well on the way to getting out of the country before it started or she’d be in a horrible place mentally.

“Are you going?”

She almost missed it, Matt’s pathetic whisper.

“Obviously,” she replied, a little colder than intended, but she _was_ walking out the door with a monster of a suitcase. When she turned to face him, she saw Matt had tears in his eyes.

“I know,” she sighed, “days like this...” days she’d never had to face since Alfred’s death, as bad as things had been.

“Mike’s entering,” he told her, cutting off whatever else Natalya had planned to say. She soon forgot.

“Is he stupid?” she asked in a harsh voice, wrinkling her nose in disgust.

“That’s not very-” Matt sighed, “probably. He’s Alfred’s brother alight.”

“And he will go out like Alfred,” Natalya finished for him; unsurprisingly, fresh tears squeezed out of Matt’s eyes.

“Please stay,” he breathed.

“Matt-”

“Not forever, just… just in case-” his face crumpled as he grabbed her blouse, “Mike’s gonna die! He’s gonna die like Alfred did! Please- I can’t.”

Natalya patted his back awkwardly. “I know, I know. ...There, there.”

“Please- will you?”

“Fine.”

 

…

 

Mike wondered if he should be panicking over the fact that none of Sam’s advice stayed in his mind, practically driven out by nerves and anxiety, then realised it was panicking that made him forget all of Sam’s advice in the first place and that he wasn’t the smartest person by a long shot.

What he _did_ know was that he’d never felt power like this, the pure muscle of the beast beneath him, nothing like the plastic he’d been practising on before. Maybe Sam had mentioned this; he couldn’t quite recall. It felt like sitting on the engine of a monster truck, just the strength under him he knew could be used to kill him quite easily, like he was a bug. This was a terrible idea and he wanted to go home.

But that just wasn’t an option, so it was time harden the fuck up and face this like a man, preferably without getting hospitalized or crapping his pants.

Gripping his rope just that bit tighter, he signalled to start and his arm was wrenched by what felt like a dropped anvil tied to his wrist, but between his grip and the rosin covering it, he somehow held on. He just had to hold on.

The arms weren’t important anyway; it was all about the legs.

All his weight was on his feet, gripping the sides of the bull as if standing with it between his legs rather than sitting. He had to keep gripping, or his legs would go flying and he’d lose control.

Mike could do it. He rode every spin, every jump as the bull pulled and tossed him about, head snapping back and forth until he saw stars.

When Mike was thrown from his ride, it was split seconds after the buzzer announcing his time was up. Lucky there was all that padding on the ground, but it would be nice if the crowd would stop laughing so much. Alfred was there though, his beloved big brother, picking him up again with a smile. He even pulled out a hankie to mop up the tears. It was fine. He would protect Mike.

It was a rodeo clown that helped him up, snapping him back to the present as he wondered why a real bull was being ushered away.

_Where was he anyway?_

Mike’s head throbbed, veins pulsing against his temple as he fought down a wave of sickness. Nothing felt real, his mind and ears blocked by static, despite how people seemed to be shouting all around him.

Alfred was here again, dead in the dirt, a lifeless hand reaching for him, glassy eyes and bleeding mouth blank as he stared past him, at nothing again. Mike tried to walk to him, but the ground flipped to its side and he was stuck on the floor again, this time his head throbbed and swam worse than before.

“Al...” he muttered as he was helped up again, but his brother was gone.

“Go sit down, kid,” the rodeo clown told him, “you don’t look so well.”

Mike couldn’t form a reply, given that he barely heard the statement in the first place, but he allowed himself to be pushed towards the edge of the arena, where Alfred and Matthew were waiting for him, concerned though he couldn’t tell why. He stumbled into the iron railings as a brother- he couldn’t tell which- pulled him over.

“Al, Matt-” His voice was thick, heavy and blurred.

“It’s just me, sugar lump,” came Matt’s tender reply.

“No- no Al’s right-” but the harder he focused, the closer his brothers became until he was staring up at Matt’s frowning face. “Oh.”

“You have concussion,” Sam told him simply, finally joining her cousins on the scene.

Mike just stared at her blankly for a long moment. “Yo- you, fucking- have concussion.”

“Honey, your nose is bleeding.”

After another moment, Mike wiped a hand across his face, pulling it away to find a red mess. “So I am.” He shrugged. “How well did I do?”

“You got an overall score of 66,” Matt filled in, “they just announced it.”

“Not the best,” added Sam, “but not bad.” Easy for her to say; she came second in her category. Or something like that.

“But it’ll probably be more than Cooper so you can say you’ve won and leave it be,” Matt told him with a hopeful smile.

“Are you kidding?” scoffed Mike, “I still have seven rounds to go.”

“Have you taken a look at yourself?” Sam cried, “it’s only been one go-round and you already have a pretty severe brain injury. You’re bleeding for Christ’s sake!”

“Another little knock to the head could be fatal,” Matt told him, grabbing his shoulders as if the boy were about to jump back in the arena. Blood dribbled into Mike's mouth.

“That’s a risk I’ll have to take;” the slur in his voice was probably not helping his argument, but screw it, “I mean, how can I back down now?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well someone’s being set up for a fall. Poor, stubborn idiot.
> 
> And yeah let’s face it, shit’s going tf down next chapter so I’ll try not to go on hiatus anytime soon aha. Watch me eat my words.
> 
> Also, sorry if the concussion stuff wasn’t realistic. As I’ve never had concussion [even after all my metal af headbanging- must be going at weenie speed]. My brother has, because people six feet tall are just not made for doing spider kicks, but I can’t ask him what it feels like because we’ve had a sibling spat and aren’t talking to each other.


	27. Wreck

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it. The chapter I’ve most been anticipating since the kissing chapter and Hunapo’s accident, pretty much the main chapter in the whole story. I hope I didn’t mess this up because I tend to be less than impressed with how my important chapters turn out; every damn time I go to write them I just don’t know how to word them best and am usually tired. Oh, and because of the content, I’ll just warn you all there’s a little violence in this chapter. You know, nothing major. Just a few scrapes.
> 
> Everyone will be fine.
> 
> Trust me.

Mike was sure it had taken a _lot_ of self control for his brother to not slap him or wring his neck, and he honestly couldn’t blame the guy.

He was being incredibly stupid, reckless, and hot-headed; more so than usual, but nobody made a fool out of Michael Joshua Jones, not even himself, and especially not some smarmy, two-faced sonovabitch who thought he was so damn slick. If anything happened to him, be it on Cooper’s lacking conscience.

That c-word debris.

Oscar was up next, and he was really curious to see how the boy would do, since he was the one to beat and all. No one else came close [and the other competitors were a little annoyed at the two winners trying to hog what they felt was their limelight, but screw them- they'd all probably get higher scores in this one event anyway] so it could come down to a single point between himself and Oscar, even if they did the worst here. He wondered if Oscar had ever ridden a real bull before, or if he- like Mike had been- was about to lose his figurative bull virginity right here in this arena. Whilst he wouldn’t dream of wishing injury on anyone, he still hoped the bastard fell off. Nothing more though. Mike decided not to say that aloud, however, since Hunapo was right next to him, the other side of the little pen he was stood in with eight nervous competitors, right in the front row of the spectator stand. They were sprawled out in their wheelchair, leg stretched before them in its cast and making the younger competitors all a little uncomfortable. But the higher seats weren’t exactly built for wheelchair access, so there the 'sick patient' would have to stay, the image of what their own futures were pretty much guaranteed to look like in this game. None were too bothered by the prospect, but it was nice to not have such a graphic reminder haunting them.

Charlie was on their other side, clutching their chair to the point of almost injuring herself, it seemed, tense and agitated.

Oscar’s scarf was on Hunapo's lap, presumably to keep the little red rag out of sight of the bull. His brother’s scarf? What a result! How the hell was he supposed to win without his precious lucky scarf?

Idiot.

 

…

 

Oscar thought he was pretty much an idiot too.

He was, unsurprisingly, fearful and frightened as all hell and resisting the urge to throw up all over the bull, because that would definitely make it even more angry, and it already looked like it would be all too happy to stomp him into a screaming pulp. His hands were trembling, sweat nearly succeeding in washing the rosin away, he wagered. His legs felt like pathetic twigs compared to the wall of muscle he was sitting on, like it would be impossible to complete even the first round due to being so laughably weak. His heart was going to betray him and stop working. He couldn’t breathe.

Oscar wanted to cry.

Logan would be so ashamed of him, patronising, practically demanding he stop trying to be someone he wasn't. He wasn't ready. He'd do himself a serious injury. Well all the training in the world hadn't saved Logan.

He closed his eyes for the briefest of moments, only to find his brother’s grotesque corpse staring down at him, glaring with sunken dead eyes and an open throat dribbling blood. His lips were pale, and pulled into a cruel snarl as he glared down at his brother, dripping with disapproval as well as thick, drying blood and bubbles of saliva. His eyes narrowed as he shook his head.

Oscar nodded in reply, to show him he really was doing this and wasn’t about to give up at the request of a phantom, but all that did was signal he was ready- despite how he wasn’t- and before Oscar knew what was going on the bull was swinging out of the chute and into the arena.

He was thrown more or less immediately. Oscar didn’t stand a chance even on the first spin, and the moment the bull kicked its legs up he was flying. Unsurprisingly, it hurt to crumple into a heap on the ground, and Oscar groaned out his sore arm and ribs, thankfully nothing feeling like it had fractured. Oh boy did he know that feeling. But oh man was his pride in tatters, and although the crowd simply groaned and inhaled, he almost swore they were laughing. Judging him. The boy who couldn’t wipe away his brother’s shadow.

Oscar wanted the ground to swallow him.

He’d be better prepared next round though.

Oscar twisted the top half of his body, propped up on his elbows, just to see where the bull was and make a speedy bolt in the other direction, patch up his scrapes and try again. And again. No matter how many of his eight go rounds he failed.

But the ground thundered as the bull appeared, towering above him, free from the rodeo clowns, on its hind legs with hooves aiming right for him. Oscar didn’t have time to scream before it came thundering down on his body.

It had all happened in less than four seconds.

 

…

 

When the bull crashed down on his legs, Oscar then managed a scream, a curled, pained bellow that blasted through Mike like hot wind, arms scrabbling in the dirt for an escape. He could only stare, horrified as the boy was trampled, a hoof crushing his back as a horn was lowered to gore at his head; only then did the screaming stop. Oscar soon became lost in a mess of dust and black fur.

“Oh fuck!” he cried, rocking on the balls of his feet as if that would give him a clue what to do. “Oh shit oh-” This wasn’t happening.

If he closed his eyes it would all go away.

Oscar wasn’t- Oh fuck why!

Hunapo had been stunned into silence, face drained of colour, choked shouts of horror dying in their throat before they even had a chance to speak. Their voice came out in a whimper as they clutched his scarf. Next to them, Charlie screamed, a hysterical, high-pitched octave Mike had never heard from her before that drowned out the horrified spectators and commentators.

The rodeo clowns were doing their best to lead the bull away, present new moving targets but it wasn’t leaving Oscar alone long enough for him to be seen to without risking someone else. Or, whatever was left of Oscar. He was a bloody pulp now and Mike thought he would throw up.

It was then that Mike had an idea: a stupid, reckless idea he didn’t stop to ponder before grabbing the scarf from Hunapo’s hand and vaulting the railing into the arena. He landed on his knees with a thud, ignoring all shouts from behind as he hauled himself up and began running. He didn’t know what the hell he was doing, but it was better than standing by and letting it happen.

“Hey!” he called, “over here, ya big, dumb brute!” He didn’t know how this would suddenly work, given that the bull was electing to ignore both rodeo clowns, and quite frankly he wasn’t sure he wanted it to work, but he had to do something.

Even if he hated- and not just because he loved- Oscar, he couldn’t just let him be torn apart like his brother. Their brothers.

Oscar wasn't moving at all now, and Mike had no idea if he was alive even, let alone if there was a chance of saving him, but at the very least he could save the body from being destroyed. Let him be buried in one piece.

“I’m right here come and get me!” He waved his little flag, right in front of the bull and dangerously close now. It gave a mock-charge and he fell back, but that was enough to allow one of the clowns to rush to him as the other began flanking the bull once more, giving it two potential and confusing targets.

Mike backed towards the open exit chute, still shouting and doing everything he could to attract the bull’s full attention. Someone would’ve called an ambulance by now, surely?

“Come on, big boy! This way!”

The bull charged, and Mike practically stumbled into the exit chute, clambering up the sides just in time with his ankle escaping a nasty goring by a millimeter. Mike wasted no time in clambering back down into the arena as the chute gate was pulled shut, bolting as fast as he could until he’d practically collapsed next to Oscar.

“Is he- oh fuck-” his face crumpled at the sight, from the boy’s crushed, bloody legs to the gash in the back of his head. Oscar wasn’t even groaning, not making sound nor movement.

“Is he..?” Mike didn’t want to ask, didn’t want to know.

“It’s hard to say,” replied the rodeo clown, a man with kind eyes and a soft face, Terry. “I can’t feel anything, but- look, the ambulance is on its way. I don’t want to move him ‘til then though, cause his spine is pretty damaged I can tell that much..”

“Fuck.” It was true, though. When Mike- tentatively- lifted up Oscar’s bloodsoaked shirt, the skin was flayed and cracked, bone visible where the hoof had crushed the small of his back. The boy was, in every sense of the word, in pieces.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...Oh dear. RIP Oscar. So sad. I my defense he was a bit of a prick. That’s not much of a defense, I know.
> 
> And yeah I’m mildly annoyed with how this has turned out.
> 
> Am I really so London as to pick Terry for a name? Why Terry, of all things? I don’t know, but I like to think the other clown is called Dave and they’re from East London originally but after getting into country music they decided to travel to Texas to pursue ill-thought-out dreams of being cowboys. And yeah maybe they didn’t quite become cowboys but they’re still having fun. Except for having to scrape up teenager pulp from the arena. Which is the main point of this chapter I don’t know why I’ve gone off on such a tangent.
> 
> Also my laptop’s about to die and I don’t have a charger, so I don’t have to see how angry yous all are just yet haha.


	28. Faces sculpted, eyes blurred

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn’t mean to leave it on a week’s cliffhanger that was actually my bad. I’m determined to get this finished though, since there’s so little left and none of it’s action-heavy anymore. It’s just… descriptions, dialogue and character development I guess. And crying. And maybe some HuttMol now all the competition is out the way. Or should that be… past HuttMol because Hutt is dead.
> 
> Also since I first planned this chapter it’s been heavily inspired by Johnny Cash’s ’ghost riders in the sky’.

Oscar was certain he was outside, though at times, when he could focus long enough, when his vision cleared and the dull shapes and blobs of colours took on a solid form, he swore he was in a giant cave. Or a big brown dome. The lighting was soft, warm, like a sitting room illuminated by a lone desk light, but who on earth kept cattle inside?

He didn’t think he was in a barn or stables, and as the cattle trudged before him, marching past and ignoring him completely, they kicked up dust that almost made his eyes water.

The wall of cattle stretched seemingly indefinitely before him, moving before his eyes and being lead to who knows where, if there was anyone to drive them at all. Every so often a beast would stab him with a glower, red eyes cutting through him like a laser.

Oscar was on a horse he didn’t recognise: dark, larger than normal and dwarfing him, with iron hooves, evil eyes and the nastiest snarl such an animal could pull. Even the cattle seemed abnormally large to him, angry and intimidating

He decided to follow them, his horse surprisingly compliant for such a frightful creature. Maybe he was meant to drive them somewhere. Was this death? Hell? Was this his punishment for being such a terrible person? He couldn’t even remember what he’d done, but couldn’t quite get rid of the nagging feeling that he was in big trouble, and that was why he was here.

Time melted away as he travelled; maybe Oscar was stuck riding on the same spot, he couldn’t tell. He just lead his horse along the edge of the wall of cattle, mind blank, questions on the tip of his tongue. They just trudged on, his heart pounding to the beat of the cattle’s hooves.

Two figures appeared up ahead, seemingly materializing out of nowhere in front of the light of a setting sun, both on horseback and charging wildly as they waved whips, driving the cattle forward with startling cruelty. When they caught sight of him though, they ignored the bouvines completely in favour of this newcomer. Oscar didn’t recognise the blond boy, further back and watching him with blank, sorrowful eyes. The other, though, was his older brother, in the same dirty jacket he’d worn when he died, shirt in tatters and jeans caked in mud and blood. His wide-brimmed hat covered a large chunk of his facial injuries, but he still looked grim and decaying.

Logan snarled at him as he drew nearer- sending a bolt of fear through Oscar-, raising a hand to tell him to stop, voice deep and harsh as he called Oscar’s name for the first time in years. Oscar continued forward. Why was his brother here? Logan was long dead and-

_Oh._

_Oh fuck._

So he _was_ dead then? Oscar wasn’t quite sure what to make of this, given that he’d never expected to be conscious and sentient after the moment of death. And of all the things people had debated, how the fuck was this it? Cows and cowboys? He’d just come from that! Still, at least he had his brother.

Logan raised his hand again, stern and not fucking about this time. He let out a growl, eyes a dangerous, terrifying glare that always got him to behave as a child, when he knew he’d crossed the line.

This time, Oscar didn’t cower away; he wasn’t a child anymore, and besides, he was dead. What was there left to do to him?

Oscar lead his horse forward even as his brother and the other boy began riding away, launching their horses into gallops he couldn’t hope to catch. He could try though.

The cattle melted away as Oscar rode, urging his horse to go faster and faster, but Logan remained barely in his sights, soon a speck on the horizon. Orange light blinded him as he charged, but Oscar kept going. The further he went, the more gold bruises that erupted on his arms, gems of purple and threads of scratches woven in as he reached out a hand, though it was useless. Logan was gone.

Oscar screamed as he tumbled forward, but only silence greeted his dream world, as well as the world he’d left behind.

 

…

 

Michael was going to be sick.

He hated hospitals. Absolutely detested the places because he’d yet to hear a piece of good news inside these buildings- if someone wasn’t dying then they were in a whole world of hurt-, and once more he was on the verge of being faced with the news that someone he cared for was about to die. There was simply no other way to look at the situation. Why kid himself begging for a miracle?

The paramedics had been honest with him- a rarity where adults were concerned- and told him Oscar would be lucky to survive the helicopter ride. The gash on his head had swollen his brain and could very well prove fatal, and if it didn’t then a fragment of crushed bone from his leg or back could easily make its way into his bloodstream and-

Michael was definitely going to be sick.

Any minute now a stern-faced doctor would come in the waiting room to tell them all Oscar had passed away. That they tried everything they could, but there wasn’t much they could even have done to begin with. Mike would understand. He’d begun grieving already. The rage had been taken out of him outside the hospital, where he'd almost broken his hand punching Matt's car and the ground before descending into a bawling heap on the concrete, unable to bring himself to go in and face the news. Mike was numb now though. 

It could’ve been him. Either one of them could’ve fallen to their deaths out there and, given their lack of training or ability, it had been a clear case ‘when’ not ‘if’. It was sickeningly fortunate for him that Oscar’s luck had ran out first or it would’ve been him in there, probably already dead due to his concussion, which would’ve inevitably killed him if he’d ridden a bull again.

You know, because Mike never listened.

He cried silently, almost afraid to intrude on the sounds of Hunapo’s sobs and Charlie’s muffled screaming as she hugged her knees, curled up on a little plastic chair next to her guardian’s wheelchair. Matthew paced the room, but he too was silent, and had yet to shed a tear though he also looked crushed. His attempts to comfort the rest of the room had been quickly- and harshly- shut down, so now he was irritating everyone with his squeaking trainers and worried sighs. Mike was going to punch him in the fucking jaw. Again.

“S’my baby in there,” wailed Hunapo, voice weak and little more than a whisper, “that’s my son...”

Everyone glanced at them in alarm, but Hunapo didn’t seem to care, lost in their own world of torment and heartache as they curled in on themselves, muttering into their chest, on the brink of quiet hysteria. “I’m sorry Oscar...”

No one knew what they should- or could- say to that, so Hunapo was left alone to their grim lament.

 

...

 

When a doctor finally found them, after hours being left alone in the metaphorical dark, Mike braced himself for the worst.

“We managed to stabilize him long enough to attempt surgery on his spine,” the doctor told them, “I’m afraid there’s not much we can do for his spinal cord except fix the bone surrounding it and try to reduce the possible pain for when he wakes up.”

“He’ll wake up?” asked Mike before anyone else had the chance to speak.

“It’s possible,” replied the doctor, “we’ll be performing some pretty extensive surgery, and I’m not going to pretend things can’t go wrong, but please try to have hope.”

Michael just glared up at him.

“I want to see my son,” Hunapo pleaded with a grey face, “please take me to him; you know, just… just in case.”

It was with some reluctance that the doctor relented, possibly sensing a losing battle ahead; “fine, but quickly.”

“And me?” asked Charlie, “I’m his sister. I need to see him.”

“Little lady, I think it might be-”

“I saw what happened,” Charlie wrinkled her nose: “I think I’ll be fine.”

When they made to leave, Mike got up to follow as quietly as possible. It didn’t work though. “I don’t want to go in,” he tried, “I’m just going to wait outside the ward. I know I’m not family but-”

“He saved Oscar’s life,” Hunapo interrupted with their first smile in hours, “went right up against the bull and everything.”

Even though it had gotten him his way, Mike hated that Hunapo had said that. He wasn’t a hero; he was an idiot and Oscar too. Hell, Oscar had broken his heart but it had been Mike who started this bull riding bull; if he’d not said a word and just left their argument where it was, he’d have been free to cry and hate Oscar’s guts, but no, Oscar was still probably going to die and it was all his fault. The kid wouldn’t be the same again. Mike was no hero.

He was going to be sick.

Oscar was a grey speck hidden amongst his sheets and neck brace, and Mike watched silently from the doorway to his ward as Hunapo and Charlie clustered around his head, lost under an oversized oxygen mask that made him look like a tiny, raggedy doll in serious need of stitching back together. Mike could see an arm from where he stood, violet and swollen with bruises, tubes and wires sneaking in and out of every bit of skin possible, in and out of the sheets and weighing on his wrists like startling white chains.

Even as Charlie let out another wail, Mike ducked away to hide his dry sobbing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise! I didn’t kill Hutt! Yet? Who knows? Also this inability to use backspace or enter most of the time is raising my blood pressure to dangerous levels and making me angry as shit. Seriously, I'm going to fist my laptop. All I want for the new year is a stress-free life.


	29. I will let you down

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For some reason I thought this chapter would be easier to write but no. But there’s only like eight chapters left so hopefully I can belt those out this month and maybe some Just Kids too as it’s the Christmas chapters next and it’d be nice to do those at a seasonally appropriate time, plus my new year’s LuxMold let’s actually do that on time. Oh, and Finmass, and some commissions for IRL relatives. And finding a job. And this laptop is a cunt debris that doesn’t work properly because I’m an idiot who spills drinks on electronics. Please end me before I inevitably succumb to a heart attack.
> 
> Merry Fucking Christmas.

 

There was a heavy sense of misery about the hotel lobby. Exhaustion was there too, threatening to pull the sorry group down with it if they would allow such a thing to happen, if they dared to stop thinking of what they saw, had heard in the hospital.

The hotel receptionist was the only other person about, ignoring them in favour of their phone and occasional email; none of the other guests bothered them and the hotel was closed for the night so they were all perfectly alone to sob and mourn, too tired and afraid of their thoughts to retire to their rooms but unwilling to say a word. The grand clock in the corner tick-tocked on and on, driving Michael up the wall and keeping him from getting completely lost in his little bubble of misery.

He was sandwiched between Matthew and Sam on one sofa in the corner, Hunapo perpendicular to them with Charlie curled up on their one good knee. Their daughter. Charlie was plainly relieved that all ‘guardian’ formalities had been dropped once and for all, under her despair. In the corner, Natalya slouched against the window, uncomfortable and trying her best to remain invisible.

Charlie was the first to succumb to the pulls of sleep. She cried herself into a deep slumber that couldn’t be disturbed, even when Matt lifted her from Huna’s arms to help them carry her to her room.

Mike watched them go, silent and feeling lower than he’d ever done before. Charlie had thanked him for saving her brother on the ride home and it was with a heavy heart that he’d said it was no problem, that Oscar would do the same and it was the right thing to do.

“Hey little man,” Sam spoke up, “how ya hanging in there?”

Mike squirmed. “I feel like shit. I don’t know what you want me to say.”

“Well, I was hoping for something honest, so there's that.” Her smile was shot down with a glare. “You probably don’t want to hear this, but I’m proud of you. You’re-”

“Damn right I don’t want to hear this!” Mike snapped, “I ain’t no hero!”

Sam frowned, “I don’t understand.”

“It’s… it’s...” Mike’s face crumpled as he stifled a sob.

“Mikey...”

“It’s all my fault he’s even there,” Mike refused to look at her, at anything but the floor. “I know you know we had a fight, and that’s how we… I was the one who said it.”

“Said what?”

“That I was entering,” Mike’s lip wobbled, “it was my stupid idea to do this to get back at him-”

“Get back?” To no one’s surprise, Sam was struggling to follow.

Michael couldn’t reply immediately, not about something like this. “We kissed, and for some reason he got the wrong idea and said- we had a fight. I wanted to hurt him, like nothing I’d felt before.” He buried his head in his hands.

“I see.”

“And fuck did I. Oscar wouldn’t have entered this stupid event if I hadn’t first and… it’s my fault he’s… he could die.” He glanced up at his cousin, eyes searching for some form of reassurance. “How can I even look at Huna and Charlie anymore? When they tell me… when they thank me for saving him all I can think of is how I put Oscar there in the first place!”

“Well, I don’t really know what to say,” confessed Sam before pulling him into a hug. “I mean. You’re both so damn stupid.”

“You’re not helping,” Mike mumbled.

“But really, to enter an event you had no training for? Surely you and Oscar must’ve known what you were getting into? Like, you must've understood, right? It’s dangerous for a professional!” She shook her head at that. “It’s could’ve been either one of you, really.”

“I don't think-”

“Freak accidents happen,” Sam reasoned, “and you were brave for going up against a full grown bull. It doesn't matter what happened before; it was heroic as shit!”

Mike didn’t look convinced in the slightest, so Sam just rolled her eyes. “If you’re going to keep being an idiot, then fine. You can visit Oscar tomorrow and tell him you’re sorry and see that he’s fine and you both can move on.”

“Fine?” screeched Mike, “he’s probably dead already! How the fuck do I even explain this to his family?”

“Huna knows,” Sam sighed, “Oscar told them and they told Matt. They don't care. You undid your mistake when you jumped into the arena to save him.”

“My existence was a mistake,” Mike groaned.

“Well that’s not true in the slightest.” Sam silenced him with another hug, Mike unwilling- and simply too tired- to protest.

“Samantha?” a clear cut voice caused them both to look up in alarm, and sure enough, there was Arthur, almost collapsed under the weight of all his luggage. He looked ready to drop, but bristling with excitement nonetheless.

“Honey?” Sam mumbled wearily.

“I’m back!” Arthur called in unusual cheeriness, with the expression of a dad who had completed his first lego set with his child; “oh um, this doesn't look so pleasant,” his face fell at the sight of his tearful, miserable girlfriend. “Blimey, who died?”

And with that, Mike burst into tears.

 

...

 

Matthew’s mind was a mess as he said goodnight to Hunapo and wished them well. Anything he said didn’t seem to help in the slightest- and he thought he was good at this sort of thing by now- and if it had been the right thing to say, Huna was simply too exhausted to care. They seemed to appreciate the help getting changed and into bed though, seeing as they were more or less unable to function at this point.

Calling to him, huh?

Matthew was an idiot. Every warning, every Goddamn message hadn’t been enough for him? His brother dying? One of his biggest idols wheelchair-bound and now a little boy lying critically injured in hospital was needed to tell him this was too dangerous? And to think he had actually wanted to get back into this stupid sport.

He still wanted to get back into this stupid sport.

Maybe Matthew didn’t care that he could be cutting his life short. It was a risk he fully understood- they all did- and it wasn’t like he was living a healthy, fulfilling life now as it was. He could spend time with his family again, except Mike was probably now too traumatised to ever compete again. How the hell had their roles been reversed just like that? Matt was certain he himself should be more adamant than ever, but he was just too tired of fighting himself and his family.

Natalya was waiting for him, and to his horror she was dragging her suitcase behind her.

“I know you probably want me to stay,” she tried to look guilty about it- maybe it was genuine, though Natalya was never one for being entirely in control of her face- but she certainly wasn’t relenting, “but I really need to go back home.”

“I understand,” he replied flatly.

“I know I said not to contact me,” she tried to smile at that, “but I can understand if you need to... I’ll be there for you; just give me a call whenever you need to. Until everything is sorted.”

“Thank you.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don’t know much about how headaches are formed, but I think this one is from an artery bursting in my brain. Sorry for the whinging; it helps relieve the stress. Luckily I’m getting a new computer in April if all goes according to plan so that’ll help a lot.


	30. I will make you hurt

Even if he actually had any responsibilities or places to be, Mike would’ve tossed them all aside to keep watch on Oscar as he slept in his sterile, hospital room. Mike liked to call it sleeping. It was far better than acknowledging the fact that Oscar was in a deep, critical coma he might never wake up from.

This lifeless reality was worse than he could ever possibly imagine, and Mike had convinced himself the boy would die. With a Glasgow Coma Score of three, Oscar had yet to show a shred of evidence that he was recovering, had any intention of waking up and had soon been moved out of intensive care to a smaller ward, for the long haul, it seemed. When Mike had pulled back an eyelid, there was no response in the slightest, not a flicker. None of the doctors could say when he would wake up, if at all, and what the extent of the damage would be when he did. Oscar could yet make a full recovery, he could still die, or he could be severely mentally disabled for the rest of his life; it was anyone's game at this point, so to say, and an agonising wait. It had been a week now. Mike visited every day.

He played his part, doing exactly what the doctors had ordered him to to help Oscar’s recovery. He talked to him, played him music through headphones, held his hand silently yearning for something to get through. He _had_ to get through. Wherever he was, it was somewhere that wasn't giving him up easily and it would take all he got- and pure luck- to break through to him.

Their bookings at the hotel had run out now, and so nearly everyone moved to a hotel nearer the hospital to be closer to him, Mike included. Samantha and Arthur had said their goodbyes though, off to make a new life for themselves in the big wide expanse of the USA. They phoned every day though. Nothing new to report, of course. Natalya was long gone, but Matthew stayed to take care of them all. To Mike’s utter surprise, he was glad of the company.

Hunapo had barely left their son’s side, Charlie too; they’d told Michael he could go home if he wanted to, if this was all making him uncomfortable and he wanted to spend the rest of his summer holidays at home taking care of himself and relaxing. They’d understand completely. There was no way Mike was leaving though, not until Oscar woke up or died. There was so much he still needed to say.

Today was the same as before. He walked into the ward as quietly as he could, making a beeline for Oscar’s bed and settling down next to him. He’d ran into Hunapo on the way up, sitting in the cafe having just tested out their new crutches and thankfully giving him some space to talk on his own.

“Hey, Cooper-trouper,” he tried to smile, “it’s me, Mike. Um, I don’t know if you can hear me...” He groaned. “Oh who am I kidding? You can’t.”

The bruises had faded to gold now, patches of green and grey like paint stains he couldn’t bring himself to look at for more than a second. Oscar’s face was still hidden under a mask and head brace, swollen and disgusting in all it's gory glory now the blood had been cleaned off and the wounds stitched up, including a graze that had cut right through his left eyebrow. The one on the back of his head though, that was what had caused the coma. When he’d been kicked, it had made his brain swell and he’d lost consciousness pretty much immediately. Mike remembered the screaming cutting off suddenly, and him assuming that meant Oscar was dead.

He’d never walk again.

Hunapo had found that out a few days ago and refused to hide the truth from the others. What was the point in that? They’d find out soon enough.

Oscar’s spinal cord had snapped more or less clean in two when the bull stood on it, and though the doctors had managed to piece together his spine, the damage was irreversible. If he woke up, he’d most like feel nothing below the waist for the rest of his life, and that certainly hadn’t made Mike feel any better about the whole situation. There'd be no coming back next year.

And to think Mike had actually complained to Matt about a persistent headache he'd had since his concussion.

“I know I say this every time,” he tried, “and I do mean it, but I’m sorry.”

Naturally, Oscar didn’t reply.

Charlie had left Logan’s cremation urn on the bedside table, and Mike suspected none of the staff knew it contained human ashes, or they’d have probably made her take it home again. She’d told him she wished she could go back, to when it was the three of them happy and safe with their parents and Huna and everyone was still alive. He’d thought he had it rough now, but Charlie could very well lose the last of her family.

“You’ll forgive me, won’t you?” He knew how pathetic he sounded, he bloody knew but he had to keep talking. It would help. Maybe Oscar could hear him, maybe he was receiving some small comfort from each touch and sound he felt. Maybe it was the key to his recovery. He and Huna and Charlie had hoped as much.

“Everyone got together and made you a card,” he told him, glancing over at the enormous ‘get well soon’ card on the bedside table next to Logan’s urn, the one signed by the other nine competitors, relieved it wasn't them this time. Oscar would probably appreciate the flowers if he was awake. When he woke up. When. When... Please.

“You know- you know what I really want to say-” no, he couldn’t. Oscar might be listening. God he was such a weenie but there was no way he was confessing any feelings, even to a comatose guy. The doctors did say sometimes those in a coma can recall what happened whilst they were out- what they felt and heard. He didn’t want to have that conversation anytime soon.

But maybe that was what Oscar needed. It was probably what he’d need were they in a film, true love’s confession. No forget that, true love’s kiss! Well, what they had wasn’t love, nevermind the manner of it, but it was worth a shot.

Of course, he couldn’t quite get to Oscar’s mouth, so thoroughly checked his surroundings for any sign of an audience before getting up and planting the quickest of pecks on his forehead.

Unsurprisingly, but to his great disappointment, Oscar’s eyes remained firmly shut.

Mike thought he would cry again at the sight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, the big three-zero once more. I actually feel like I’m accomplishing something with my life, though let’s pretend it isn’t mediocre fanfiction and something important and that I actually have a wholesome, fulfilling life outside the internet. Ah who cares? HuttMol is beautiful and pure.


	31. My empire of dirt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sal- Seborga
> 
>  
> 
> ...
> 
>  
> 
> This is now, incredibly, by third-longest story; so close to being finished, which on the one hand is a relief because I haven’t finished many stories so far. But I’m also going to miss writing HuttMol outside of Just Kids and the occasional one-shot, cause oh boy am I not starting anything else for a damn long time. Except the Hetalia Big Bang. Is anyone else entering? That’s going to be fun, huh? And I supposed that doesn’t count since I already started that.
> 
> These chapters are getting stupidly short now, I know. I swear they didn’t seem that short when I was planning them.

 

He swore he’d imagined it at first, amongst the fear and hope that things would be fine eventually, that he hadn’t killed someone no matter how everyone had told him time and time again that it wasn’t his fault. He wouldn’t believe it until Oscar told him himself.

Another two weeks had passed now, and Mike was in his usual seat at Oscar’s head, stroking and playing with his hair in the hopes it would irritate him awake, slipping him chaste kisses to the forehead whenever he thought he could get away with it. After all, he had rather overreacted to their first ever kiss so it was worth a shot going down that road some more. He hoped he wasn’t hurting Oscar though, though he doubted the kid could feel pain anymore. Despite all that had happened, his skin was incredibly tender, soft and clean though he didn’t smell like wildflowers anymore, just whatever antiseptic and disinfectant soaps the staff were using. It smelt wrong. Oscar didn’t feel real or alive anymore and it scared him. He’d been stripped of a soul, even.

All the flowers that people had left for him had wilted away now, replaced by the garish trophy they'd both tried so hard to win. And had both won. Oscar had been unable to complete the event- of course- and Mike had dropped out, partially to be with him, and partially because he was too scared to go near a bull after seeing how one could tear through an almost full-grown human.

So they’d both won after all. Like planned. Whether that was a good thing or not in the end, Mike couldn’t tell. Was this his dream of sharing the award with Oscar? Possibly. It wasn’t supposed to be like this though.

He was glad he hadn't become the sole victor in the end.

Mike had brought in more flowers today, a sturdy cactus in a pot sure to last. Flowers were good. Maybe their smell would bring him back.

No one said it, but they were all starting to panic, clutching at the tiniest shreds of desperate hope. What the hell was it going to take?

Clutching Oscar’s hand as gently as he could, Mike began to hum. It was something else they’d been trying with no success, Hunapo playing him his favourite songs from their phone, seeing as he still used cassette tapes and had left those in the caravan.

Light was spilling in through the window down the far end of the room, the last dregs of summer before autumn began snaking in. He’d usually be at home by now, him and Daisy wiling away the hours outside in the garden wondering what he was going to spend his prize money on, or nursing usually the mildest of injuries. He’d probably spend time with his friend Sal too, the boy usually back from his summer holidays at last with a new tale romantic misadventures and possible near death after unsuccessfully trying to learn how to swim. Again.

How the hell was he going to explain all of this? It was lucky Matt had already told their aunt and saved him from _that_ particular conversation. He wasn’t sure what she thought of it all, but wasn’t too keen to find about, another reason he wasn’t going home until he had to.

Mike continued his hum, that silly little tune they’d danced the polka to almost a month ago now, low enough so that it wouldn’t bother anyone but Oscar. He had to remember _that_ , right?

He couldn’t help the pained desperation that slipped into his voice, the little squeeze he gave the bruised hand. There was still hope, but it was exhausting now. Please, please Oscar, just wake up. He needed to talk to him before he was whisked hundreds of miles away.

Mike withdrew to bury his face in his hands, slumping back in his seat. Oh, what was the point? He was going to sleep for damn years, wasn't he? Yes, he'd never wake up and eventually die by himself or get put out of his misery when all hope was gone. He didn't know how these things worked, but dozens of grim farewell scenarios played through his mind all the same.

And when he glanced back up, he swore it was his imagination.

Maybe it was a trick of the light, or some desperate mirage... but Oscar’s eyes were open, staring blankly at the ceiling like a corpse, though open all the same. He had opened his eyes. Of his own accord. No, this was real, by some miracle.

“Wait, Oscar!” he jumped up, knowing he should fetch Huna or a nurse but completely unwilling to leave the boy alone, not now. He didn’t even think to press an alarm.

“Oh God you’re awake!” he could weep at the sight, though Oscar had yet to respond to the sound of his voice. He stared into nothing.

“Wait… no, you’re awake now, right?” He sank back into his chair, gripping Oscar’s lifeless hand.

...

Another week. Mike would need to go back home soon.

It seemed Oscar had gotten into a cycle of waking and sleeping, and had sometimes caught the eye of those around him though he had yet to move or attempt communication. Once, yesterday, he’d even started crying silently, starting without warning and continuing for a good half hour. No one could tell what had caused it, though Mike could hazard a guess.

“I wish I had something more interesting to tell you,” he was saying, still determined to get through, “but things have been the same, really.” He just sat in here when he could, and when he couldn’t he went home and worried. Oh, and walked Daisy. He supposed he could talk about her again; it wasn’t like Oscar hated animals anyway.

Well, maybe bulls now.

“You know,” he began, “even Daisy misses you. When Charlie pets her, I can see she’s looking for you too.” It was refreshing talking to Oscar when he was sure the other could hear him.

Now if only he’d actually move. The vegetative state was just as scary as the coma at times; this could be as far as he decided to go.

“She- she’s been really funny, as usual,” he tried, though even Daisy had failed to make him really laugh as of late. The conversation died on his tongue, and he suspected even Oscar had stopped listening.

“Well, can’t say I didn’t try.” He gave a sigh and sat in silence. Where were Huna and Charlie anyway? Between the three of them they could usually keep up a good stream of conversation.

Once more against a wall, Mike resorted to the only thing he had left: polka. It had worked before, and maybe it wouldn’t get Oscar to talk and sit up, but he’d take a moan or a blink at this point. Anything. Please.

He tried to keep his humming more even this time, in tune and less of a wailing mess if he could help it. This time though, he kept his eyes firmly on Oscar’s, who was staring into space, and massaging his hand as gently as he could.

They both happened at the same time, so sudden he could barely process either, but as Oscar glanced over, his hand gave a twitch in Mike’s, clasping for the briefest of seconds. And then, just like that, he was gone again.


	32. Hometown

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Crap, there’s only four chapters left after this. Who’s excited? I know I am. It’s always exciting, finishing a fic. I guess. Bittersweet too.
> 
> But am I going to finish them all in the next two weeks? If I don't update anything else, and use all the determination and alcohol I have.

 

All too soon, Mike could do nothing as Matt dragged him away and back to Nevada. He’d already lost his job from simply not showing up again and he didn’t want his brother missing out on any school. At least the brothers could live together again; that was something. Mike had been prepared for this, but he protested all the same. Seriously, what would a few missed days right at the start of term do in the long run? And Oscar had only just started talking.

The weeks had dragged on as he gave more and more signs that he was regaining consciousness. Eyes becoming more alive and focused; muttering gargled, jumbled words to himself; and crying. He cried a lot, it seemed. He tried not to around others, but the evidence was there nonetheless: bloodshot eyes and watery streaks he couldn’t wipe away.

He’d called Mike by his name only yesterday, a sound he’d not heard in far too long. Oscar had reached for his hand, blind panic across his face that settled when he could finally focus on him. Mike hadn’t put a second thought into holding his hand, and that helped him relax further. It had been incredible, watching Oscar stare at him so accurately for so long; he was without a doubt improving.

Mike wanted to stay with him, and be there for more of his recovery. He wanted to support Oscar through everything, but Hunapo had also put a stop to those plans by informing him that Oscar was to be flown back to New Zealand at some point in the near future and that he might as well go home.

And so he did.

Oscar was on the other side of the world right now, as far away as a person could get. Hunapo had promised to stay in contact, but with the time difference, emails came in slow. Oscar was having trouble readjusting it seemed, and though the change in location- and being out of the hospital- would probably be for the best in the long run, it had disorientated and confused him in ways he couldn’t quite express. His progress may have been set back a few weeks because of it.

Mike wondered if his hair was growing out too. It had been shaved in order for his head to be stitched up, something he knew Oscar would loathe and he did too. He loved Oscar’s fine, bouncy curls, how they seemed to have their own life and energy and sparkle with gold. Mike had never noticed how long and thin Oscar’s face looked without them, or how small and sickly he seemed either. As if his situation hadn't been scary enough without him looking like a dead body in a horror game.

“No fair,” whined Salvatorio, perched next to him on the bed with a dish of empty taco shells between them [there wasn’t much in the house and Mike didn’t feel like cooking], “I thought losing my V card on holiday would be the talk of the school, but you had to go nearly kill a guy.”

“Sal, no one can know about this,” Mike insisted, knowing full-well how loose the tongue of this notorious gossip could be.

“Then why did you tell me?”

“I need advice, man!” He hated the way Sal smirked at that. “I’m in deep shit here! This is something even my girl Kelly Clarkson can’t help me with. She never did a song for this situation.”

“Wanna know what I think?” asked Sal.

“Fucking obviously!”

“Anyone who genuinely uses the phrase ‘my girl Kelly Clarkson’ probably shouldn’t have become a cowboy. It's just not natural.”

“You’re not helping!” Mike rolled his eyes dramatically, electing to ignore Sal as he pulled out his phone. He could ignore him all damn evening if he wanted to, though it would probably only be all of a minute. His eyes widened and he broke into a grin at the sight of a new email.

“That him?” asked Sal with a smirk.

“His parent,” Mike growled, “Oscar can’t exactly type at the moment… oh God this is a mess!”

“Something wrong?” When Sal tried to glance over, Mike scowled and scurried away.

“No,” he replied truthfully, “apparently Oscar’s eating with a straw now. That’s gotta be an improvement, right?”

  
...

 

It had been a long stressful day, but any day that involved him being at school with these idiot sheeple babies that drove him up the wall was long and stressful for him. Mike wasn’t one to keep himself cooped up inside, especially when there was so much he could be doing in his garden. Solitude was the only way he could survive the indoors, and that was certainly hard to come by at school. At least no one knew what he'd done in the summer; that was something. So Sal could keep a secret after all, not to mention he was too busy riding off the fame of his holiday romance.

Sal was fine, but the rest needed to leave him the fuck alone.

Still, at least now he could expect a video chat with two other people he didn’t actually mind spending time inside with.

It would be mid afternoon the next day in New Zealand, and once he and Hunapo had gotten used to each other’s time zones, Mike knew he could expect them to message nearly every day after school with Oscar in tow, if possible. It’d always be from Oscar’s room, the boy propped up on a mountain of pillows and always smiling. At him? Mike couldn’t see how.

They’d talk about their days, Hunapo struggling to keep up the flow of conversation because all Mike had as conversation starters were trivial complaints he didn’t feel were appropriate for the situation. Who the hell complained about homework to someone who barely had the capacity to speak now?

Oscar was getting better though, thankfully. He tried his best to join in the conversation, usually with someone’s name or a shakey gesture. That was how things had been as weeks dragged into months and the air outside got ever so slightly chilly.

This time, however, there was no video call waiting for him, but an email from a certain O. Cooper. Not the most original- no numbers or anything-, but Mike wasn’t sure what he had been expecting from the resident technophobe.

But more importantly: Oscar had sent him an email.

Mike took the briefest of moments to let his heart somersault right into his mouth before clicking furiously to open it. What the hell? It had to be Oscar, right? Huna had their own email address and Charlie used that when she needed to speak with him. Unless she wanted to say something private.

It was Oscar.

His writing was quite basic for a boy Mike considered to be considerably intelligent, and riddled with mistakes like he had been working with an old, stiff keyboard. It was a simple message, and one he imagined took Oscar a painful amount of time to write, but there all the same, concisely explaining that he was new to this internet business, hated it, but would be willing to put up with it in order to converse with Mike. Converse. Yes, he’d actually thought it best to type that out instead of using a simpler word. No wonder he was struggling. Well, that and Mike suspected he didn’t exactly have all that much hand-eye control right now.

But still, he wanted to talk to Mike? Strike up a friendship again, it seemed. With him? Why? Well, Mike did want to keep Oscar in his life, but there was no way he actually believed the other would want… still, he wasn’t about to look this gift horse in the inbox.

It was with a giddiness he’d never experienced that he reread and began to compose a reply.

 


	33. With regards

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just to clarify, the mistakes in Oscar’s messages were deliberate here. No need to correct me.

 

Dearest Michael,

Thank you for your e-letter; I had sso much fun reading it. Its gets rather lonely being cooped up in my room for so long, especially when onnne does have much in the way of friends. I have a wheelchair now, of course, but the effort to bring me and it downstairs every time I want to go out… it’s humiliating to ask. At least I don't have to go to college anymore. Maybe I will later but for now i need to recover. Mātua whāngai, erm, Hunapo to you, has told me their father plans to convert the front room into a new bedroom for me sometime in the future, which will be easier though I will miss the view from my bed. There’s a lovely apple tree in the back garden that’s popular with the local birds. It keeps me distracted from throwing this stupid computer out the window. I would send you a proper letter but I fear neither of ius could afford the postage. Oh darn thi s machine. Save me.

To answer your question, yes Charlotte told me about what Mātua- Hunapo- called me, whilst still in Texas, even. I’m touched they now think of me as a son, hence why I now think of them as a parent. I suppose something good had to come from this, besides us actually talking like normal human beings.

Speaking of which, thank you for gifting me that trophy. Yes, it is a gift. I don’t care how you look at it; I certainly didn’t win the thing. Winners don’t get themselves paralyzed. Or was it winners don't do drugs? I wouldn't reccomend either. It looks nice on my shelf though. The trophy, not the drugs. The trophy goes nicely next to my pressed flowers anthology, and the cookbooks.

Oh, and stop apologising! We both got what was coming to us, since we were too hotheaded to take a step back and realise this was a terrible idea. I say it’s best to start afresh and put this all behind us. Wouldn’t you agree? It would be nice to get to know each other properly.

With regards, Oscar

 

...

 

Sup, O-zone,

Drop the formalities already? I’m not like the pope or anything I'm a mate and this is an email. You be formal in letters with like your boss or something.

Glad to see you’re recovering though. Things going smoothly? How are you adjusting? Hope you get used to the chair, and don't worry about it. It's a setback but you have your life ahead of you. You're smart dude. There's plenty of other things you can do with your future. Well, give yourself some time to recover and get things back together.

I’m doing fine. School’s bullshit and Sal’s upset because his long distance girlfriend dumped him. I thought he talked about her too much before! Things are boring without events, and you tbh. It means 'to behonest'.

Matt says hi, btw. That means by the way, by the way, you middle-aged manboy.

Fuck your regards,

Mike.

 

...

 

To the most charming, articulate, sensitive young man I know,

You can prize my formalities from my cold, lifeless fingers.

I am trying to adjust the best I can, but it’s not easy, understandably. I am a very independent man, and it’s getting hard to accept I need Hunapo for literally everything now. No really, literally everything. It is humiliating, to say the least. We have no privacy. Not only that but I feel so guilty at how much work they have to do looking after me, a full time job especially during this first year or so, even with the help of their parents and Charlie. I felt bad enough when they were forced to take myself and my sister just because they happened to be ating Logan in but...

He did leave it in his will. So Never mind. I would have no one else care for me in such a personal way. Certainly not a stranger.

Mātua and Charlotte say hello. And please wish your brother luck in finding a new job for me.

With renewed regards,

Oscar

 

...

 

To the most pretentious sonovabitch I ever had the misfortune to meet, but kinda like in some way,

I’d rather not; you’re abnormally hard to kill.

You and Huna really need to work on the whole communication front. And coming from me, for fuck's sake, I can guarantee it’s getting out of hand. Look, I’ve been talking to them for months now, and they’re happy to help their kid. Would they really have it any other way? Well, I mean they’d probably prefer you healthy.

I’m gonna go now. Stop trying to look to me for comfort I'm emotionally stunted and talk to Huna. 

Your regards can suck my taint.

Mike.

 

...

 

To Mark or Moe or whatever your name is.

You sound like you’ve tried.

Really? Well that’s a relief to know. Thank you. You’re right though: we should actually communicate, though I hope you’re taking your own advice there. How is Matt anyway? Oh, and Sam and Arthur. I heard about their new life and congratulate them on taking such a huge step forward. I wish them all the best for the future. 

Things will be tough, but we can live through them all, right?

With fresh new regards,

Oscar.

 

...

 

Cheery, O,

The bull was an inside job.

Yeah, we’re talking. About our feelings and mushy stuff. It’s okay, I guess. Oh, Merry Christmas too. I-

 

...

 

Mike paused at that, leaning back in his chair. Now what? It had been months since he’d last seen Oscar, for one thing, and he had been planning to visit New Zealand sometime over Halloween, though that had fallen through. Maybe another time then.

Another thing he’d been planning was to bring up that kiss, and likewise those plans had all been for nothing. That being said, he was perfectly happy rebuilding their friendship for now. He had to admit it was nice letting the squabbling remain playful, nothing escalating for once and just them letting themselves be, well, themselves.

They had all the time in the world now.

 


	34. With renewed regards

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had meant to update this sooner, sorry. So, only a few days left of this year and two chapters left to go… reckon I can make it? I’m not exactly doing much this week so it should be fine.
> 
> This chapter is supposed to be set a couple months later, just so you know.

Hey Mike ;D,

Yes, things are chugging along splendidly. I’m now in the front room and it actually looks really nice. Mr Davies really did a good job making it personal and comfy, practical too. It's... my room, if that makes sense. A proper young man's room, personal and I suppose permanent. It certainly went a lot smoother than Mātua’s attempts to fix a wheelchair ramp to the caravan. It was the most beautiful sight, just relaxing on a deck chair watching them swear up a storm at inanimate tools. You might be pleased to know liberal usage of the c word did not come from me this time. The caravan smelt funny anyway.

I’m used to navigating with a wheelchair now, thank you, and planning my journeys with it in mind. People are generally nice about it, if a little patronising. No one at college has really given me grief, which is taking a load off Charlie and Mātua’s minds. The only thing people really ask is how it happened, or, if they recognise the accent, was it a shark? One person said crocodile instead, come to think of it. At least Mātua finds that funny.

Easter sounds great, by the way. Hope you can get things sorted, and if so, looking forward to meeting you.

Take these regards dammit,

Oscar

 

...

 

Heyyy O-zone ;DDDDD

They weren’t calling you an inanimate tool, were they? And I bet you decorated your new room just perfect, huh? Got those cassette tapes alphabetized yet? Allirea found a nice spot for herself?

Well I suppose cows are land sharks. That’s one way to look at it. Got those cold, dead eyes that let you know you're fucked. Glad to hear people are treating you well though, and I won’t have to kick any ass while I’m over there.

Yeah I think I can make it, reckon I can get over jet lag for the two weeks I’m there? There’s one thing I want to talk about though, and it’s just easier over the internet man. I’m not too good with words and stuff. Does it show?

What do you think about me? I mean… for real like. Now that we’re not trying to beat each other and fight and there’s no mind games or bullshit, what did that kiss mean to you? Do you like me? ...That was a bit forward, wasn't it? My bad. Not good with words and stuff. Again. I'd be worse in person though.

I don’t want the regards unless you bring me a receipt so I can return them.

Mike

 

...

 

Hi, Mike.

Firstly, nothing of the sort! They would never be that horrible to me! Logan would’ve made those sorts of jokes and worse; I daren’t repeat what he would say to try and cheer me up. Something something vegetable, you know. My brother was what I like to call an 'equal opportunities offender' and how Mātua put up with him was a mystery I never got round to solving. And yes my cassette tapes are ordered on my shelf, but by date released, actually. Allirea sleeps with me.

You should be fine if you plan to stay for two weeks. And no, you don't need to kick any arse.

As for your other question...

Well, what did the kiss mean to you? How do you feel for me?

Please take these regards they are orphans and need a parent.

Oscar.

 

...

 

Oscar.

I never met Logan outside of some hellos, but that sounds like something he’d do. In fact, he’s probably up there thinking of some to tell you when you’re old and dead and see him again. ...That came out more depressing than I meant. You have a long life ahead of you and that's plenty of time for him to think of a buttload of jokes.

By date? Nerd! And yeah I may not need to kick arse now, but if you ever need some muscle in the future, I can kick anyone's ass, if you want. I'd kick my own ass.

I’m not answering that! Not until you answer first! Come on man don’t just turn those questions back on me, you dick.

Screw your orphan regards

Mike.

 

...

 

It was a full week before Mike got a reply. He thought he would have a heart attack every waking minute spent waiting.

 

…

 

Michael.

I feel what you said about Logan was sweet, and the intention behind it was clear regardless. And I hope to live a long life, purely to wait to be told my hair looks as disabled as my legs.

As for you. I have typed and retyped this many times, and I apologise for the delay in my reply, as I am sure it is distressing you, but I needed to think things through and get my point across clearly and completely. No more misunderstandings. I understand you still struggle with leaving yourself emotionally vulnerable, and I haven’t exactly helped in that matter, so I suppose I ought to be the one to step up and go first. You can relax though, even if I suspect you won't.

I really like you. I did in Texas and I still do. Back then I thought it was some silly, shallow crush because I tend to be silly and shallow. Shocking. Of course, getting to know you then and now, I have found myself feeling quite deeply for a very sweet young man. You’re something special, Michael and I would love to find out just how much you still hide from me, if you would allow. I mean, I even like your hair now; I never thought I would, but now I just want to run my hands through it. And kiss your nose. And make you laugh and I wish we weren't so far apart now. We'll see each other again though.

Please take my regards, and my heart,

Oscar

 

…

 

Oscar.

...Damn right I don’t do that talking about feelings crap. But I guess I can make an exception, since it’s you.

What you said made me all mushy and stuff inside, cause dude I really like you too. And for ages it pissed me off because I thought I was supposed to hate you, and I'd made you hate me, but now I know how silly I was and there’s nothing stopping me from feeling however I want for you. We never were enemies and we certainly ain't now. Now... well, now I just like you. Still. A lot.

But I still got scared because of everything that happened and maybe you would want to move on at some point and forget the past. I don’t know. But if you still want me you can have me, just be warned I am a flawed human being who may get on your nerves from time to time.

For example, you can shove your regards up your asshole, I'll keep the heart tho ;]

Mike 

 

...

 

Mike :D

Really? You still have feelings for me? After everything I did? I don’t know if thanking you is the correct path, but thank you for giving me another chance. I want to move on but with you.

What do we do now though? Are we boyfriends? Does this mean I can hold your hand? I suppose I am now extra excited for Easter now. And we are all flawed human beings: I, for example, have been told I am quite hard to live with, and some would say narcissistic. Can you believe that? The cheek!

Take my regards, take them,

Oscar xxx


	35. From Te Wai Pounamu with love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Penultimate chapter holy shit. Someone hold me. Also, I forgot to say it last chapter, so I’ll do it now: a special shoutout to bumbum, whose reviews are the highlight of writing this, especially the last ten or so chapters, so thank you for leaving your kind words.
> 
> I don’t think there’s anything else to say. So, on with the story I guess.

Both Hunapo and Oscar were there to pick his tired, jet-lagged body up off the carpark of Christchurch airport, where it had collapsed next to his suitcase. After leaving from LAX, and transferring at Auckland, Mike was certain he never wanted to go anywhere near a plane again. Between his swelling ankles, the screaming baby next to him and the pain of travelling with a large, misbehaving dog, it certainly wasn’t a trip he was looking forward to making again. But still, he’d never travelled this far by himself, and the exhaustion hadn’t entirely killed the giddiness of being that independent, or seeing his boyfriend again.

After the emotional reunion, where he’d almost succeeded in lifting Oscar from his wheelchair in an overwhelming hug and talking for a good ten minutes flat- Oscar talking, Mike grunting-, he’d fallen asleep in the car. And soon after arriving at the Davies household, practically falling onto the mattress on the floor of Oscar’s room along with Daisy. He’d slept through most of the next day too, only waking up to wolf down a plate of Mrs Davies’ cooking before dropping back to sleep. Oscar didn't seem to mind, the car journey something of a strain for him too. Daisy might have been more active, and a little confused being in a strange house and country, but he was too comatose to care. Okay, maybe not the most tasteful of words.

The next day, though, he took the time to wake up slowly, admiring the sleeping mop of curls stretched out on a low bed that looked like it had been made especially. It made Mike uneasy for some reason, along with that towering black electric wheelchair. Oscar himself seemed quite peaceful, on his side with his hands acting as a soft podium for his cheek, chest rising and falling in even, graceful movements. There was a small smile on his face.

Who the hell looked that good when they were asleep? Mike had just had to wipe drool from his chin, and he wasn’t quite sure how he managed to end up facing the opposite end of the mattress to where he’d started, with a foot stuck in the pillow case. Not to mention his hair made him look like he'd been given an electric shock, given that he'd not bothered to wash the gel out before sleeping and couldn't remember the last time he'd showered or applied deodorant.

“Morning, sleeping beauty,” Oscar murmured as he opened an eye. “Are you all rested up now?”

“Yeah, sure,” Mike hauled himself up into a sitting position, wondering for a moment just where Daisy had got to. “How long was I out?”

“Fuck if I know.” He still wasn’t used to Oscar’s casual swearing, but he’d been warned that the boy was still struggling to speak and form sentences in his head, and as such, it was something of a frustrating time for him. Mike could empathize.

“Well I’m up now,” he waved a hand and grinned, “ready to do whatever the fuck you want to do today.”

“Um,” Oscar gave the shyest of smiles. “A kiss would be a nice start to the day. Then afterwards I know this really scenic coastal path if you’re up for a walk.”

“Right,” Mike grinned at that, “we haven’t exactly had the chance to do that, have we?” He hauled himself up and crawled over to Oscar’s bed, placing a chaste kiss on his lips. And another for luck. Before Oscar knew what hit him, Mike was smothering his face in little pecks, on his forehead, nose and freckled cheeks, leaving him a giggling mess swatting half-heartedly at his 'attacker'.

“Michael?” Oscar all but moaned. 

“Mmm?”

“Your breath stinks.”

With a huff, Mike crawled back to his mattress. “Okay, fine.”

“Just brush your teeth and get dressed so we can go.”

 

...

 

Okay, Oscar had definitely picked out one hell of a view. Rolling, jagged hills all but slammed into wild autumn seas, and from their cocoon of green trees, Mike could see pale, creamy sand below. Behind them, a road twisted and turned up and up. He was sprawled out in the dirt, and next to him Oscar quietly chewed at one of Hunapo’s sandwiches, eyes staring out at the horizon. Daisy was asleep, after a long afternoon sniffing every strange, new thing that could be sniffed and running wherever took her fancy, which was pretty much anywhere.

“Been training hard?” he asked all of a sudden.

“Hmm?” Mike gave a shrug, “I’ve been keeping fit, but… ah it’s nothing.”

Oscar whined. “You’ll have to tell me now.”

At that, Mike pulled a face, but decided he couldn’t decline. “I’m in a mental slump, okay? Matt’s thinking of competing with me this year, which I never really expected, and it’d be fun having him by my side, and the both of us training together, but-” he groaned; “I don’t know if I want to keep competing.”

“Because of me?” Oscar finished his sandwich and scrunched up the foil.

“No, well, yeah.”

“It’s funny Matt would want to compete again,” noted Oscar, “was he not the one dead set against it?”

“He kept telling himself that,” Mike gave the smallest of smiles, “but he could only lie to himself for so long. He loves rodeo and that will never change. Besides, he wants to spend time with me.”

“And what about you? You haven’t let what happened with me put you off, have you?”

Mike didn’t reply, which Oscar took to be a confirmation.

“Well what would you do instead?” he asked. “After all, you are still in school and have so many years ahead of you.”

“I don’t know,” admitted Mike.

“Well what would you like to do?”

Mike growled at that, pulling himself up to hug his knees. “I don’t know, okay?”

“Do you still want to compete? Ignoring the risks, would you like to get back on a horse in an arena?” Oscar’s smile took on an annoyingly sly turn.

“Maybe.”

“Then do it. I mean, you can still get on a horse and compete so do whilst you have the chance.”

“But-”

Oscar turned to glare at him, gaze even and piercing. “It’s what you were born to do mate. Please stop being silly; you’re giving me a headache.”

“Oh piss off,” Mike decided he wasn’t going to look at Oscar again, for as long as this stupid conversation went on. Who did Oscar think he was anyway? Besides his supportive boyfriend and an athlete.

“If you didn’t let what happened with Alfred stop you, then how am I any different?”

Because… it was his fault? Oh they both knew that wasn’t true. Had it been the last straw for him? That was more likely. He’d proved he was as good as his brothers so what was there really left to show the world?

“I’d love to follow your future career,” Oscar added. “I think you’re too talented to just give up.”

“What? You think I can go winning more trophies and stuff?” Mike liked the idea, he had to admit.

“Enough for both of us,” was Oscar’s sincere reply. “I don’t doubt you could break a few records too.”

“Cheers,” Mike snorted, “I’ll think about it, okay?” And with that, he stood up, casting one last glance out to sea before making his way back down to the road, Oscar right beside him. He was still a little drowsy, even with that nipping chill in the air keeping him awake, and Oscar looked ready to drop, voice becoming increasingly slurred towards the end of their conversation.

Deep in thought, Mike reached a hand over to play with Oscar’s curls, much to the other’s irritation. “What about you? Don’t think you’ll get away with sitting around feeling sorry for yourself.”

“I’m over that,” Oscar smiled across at him, “thinking of getting back into sports, actually. Not sure which though, but there’s probably a club for something around here. I’m not going to have an electric chair forever, you know?”

“You mean you think you’ll walk again?” Well, they’d certainly kept quiet about that.

“Certainly not,” grumbled Oscar, “but once I’m stronger and more adapted to… everything. I think they said I could move on to a- fuck- non-electric? Whatever it’s called. I use my arms. Being around the Davies has made me consider rugby.”

Mike wasn’t too sure he liked the sound of that. If Oscar wasn’t built for rodeo, then he certainly wasn’t built for rugby. But, even though the image of Oscar getting flattened and thrown about by big burly guys twice his size would annoy him for some time, Mike supposed it would be good for him to get out and about. As long as he didn’t meet any attractive rugby players who weren’t the other side of the world from him. “Do you know how to play rugby?” It wasn’t an interrogation, more a passing comment.

“Not a clue. Is it hard?”

“I don’t know; I’ve never played.”

“Well you’re helpful,” he huffed, “we could be talking about my future career here.”

“I’m just saying,” Mike shrugged, “a house full of kiwis but you choose to talk to me about rugby?”

Oscar squirmed. “You’re my boyfriend, aren’t you? Besides, they’ve all already explained, and it’s embarrassing asking again.”

Mike paused in his tracks, letting out a sigh as Oscar- too- came to a stop. “Babe, I know you have brain damage, and your whole family knows too. There’s no need to be embarrassed.”

“I know it’s common knowledge, thank you,” Oscar rolled his eyes, “makes me even more embarrassed.”

“To ask for help?”

“Problem?”

“Yeah, and I know asking for help sucks but it has to be done.” Mike waved a hand; “there’s nothing wrong with it, really. We’re happy to help, we keep saying.”

“And how is that going for you?” Well just damn him.

Mike groaned. “Okay, fine, let’s make ourselves a little deal.”

“I’ll ask for help when I need it, if you damn well make sure you do too,” Oscar finished in a mimicking tone.

“I’ll be checking up on you to make sure you’re keeping up your end.” Mike held out a hand, which Oscar took after some grumbling.

“You’re a git, d’you know that?”

Mike laughed. “Yes, and now I’m your git!”


	36. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...I'm not getting emotional you are. But seriously, thank you for sticking with this story and odd pairing with me, it means so much and holy fuck I can't believe I finished this in time for the New Year. Here's to finishing some more stories this year. Love you all, Trawl.

Mike wasn’t one to deliberately get his hopes up over every little out-of-the-ordinary event, but he swore that was Hunapo’s car in the distance, a rusty splodge trundling up the dirt driveway past pens and fields, sticking out against the flat, arid landscape. Cattle and chickens dispersed as the little red toyota kicked dust in its wake, coming to a stop just before a rickety old shed. Mike pushed the net curtains to the side as a tiny figure that could only be Hunapo stumbled out of the car, tiptoes straining and stomach crushed against the sink.

They weren’t due for another week, Mike made sure to announce to his brother before leaving the kitchen, almost missing Matthew’s knowing smirk from over his newspaper. He bolted out the door and practically threw himself over the porch as Hunapo hauled a wheelchair from the boot and Charlie dashed over to greet him.

“Surprise!” she yelled as she crashed into him, twig like arms somehow constricting his middle in a hug. “Betcha didn’t expect to see us, huh?”

“Well, no,” Mike grinned, ruffling her hair, “not until Texas.” He knew Oscar and family were planning to come back to the US over the summer, seeing as Hunapo wanted to catch a few rodeos- the same ones as the Jones brothers- and Oscar wanted to cheer them all on, and see his boyfriend again. Mike had flunked through his last few weeks of school just thinking about it, sacrificing homework for more training- and a little daydreaming-, and this time he was certain he had a good chance of winning. Though this time he wasn’t going to do anything stupid in order to achieve that. No last minute bullriding, no getting stupidly competitive, no fighting the competition. If he didn’t win then he didn’t damn win and at the end of the day he’d still have his family and Oscar and Oscar’s family and Daisy and a fun time doing what he loved. It would definitely help though, the thought of Oscar cheering him on at each event.

“So does this hotel have room service?” asked Oscar jokingly, wheeling himself over to join them as Hunapo struggled with suitcases and bags, many of which could only belong to the little prince of the Outback here. Moving in, was he? Not that Mike would object.

“Depends how nicely you behave,” he replied, reaching down to hug him.

“I’ll be on my best behaviour,” Oscar gave a laugh, “hope we’re not intruding though; Matt said it would be okay to show up a week early, help Mātua get over their jet lag and all. Can’t have your brother running rings around them, can we?” Well of course, Hunapo was extra keen to compete in and finish all three roughstock events this year now their leg was completely mended.

“Scared they’ll lose to a Jones?”

“Let’s not start this shit again.”

“Oh. You’re right,” stung with regret, Mike threw himself into greeting Hunapo and Charlie instead, making them feel welcome, though he left Matt to actually show them inside. They weren't the ones he wanted to spend time with, after all.

“Are you gonna help me up these?” Oscar asked when it was just the two of them, eyeing the porch steps with some irritation. Mike didn’t know how far Oscar was progressing with his rugby career, but his arms at least were slowly gaining the muscle he’d lost being unable to use them now he had finally moved on to a manual wheelchair. His chest seemed broader too. He was probably as independent as he could hope to be for the time being. 

“Actually,” he began, “I was thinking the two of us could stay out here for a bit. By ourselves. Unless, um, you know, you’re a little tired.”

“I slept in the car,” Oscar waved a hand dismissively, “what did you have planned?”

“Well, nothing, because I didn’t know you were coming.” Mike leaned over to take Oscar’s hand, the two of them stock still in the dirt and not quite looking at each other. “But just now, like, I had a sort of idea.”

Oscar raised an eyebrow. “Do I want to know what it is?”

“Hey nothing weird, don’t worry. I just thought you’d wanna go horse riding.” Mike couldn’t help laughing. “Okay, maybe there's a nice stream by the edge of the farm with these nice flowers that I thought we could spend some time at. You know, alone.”

“Sounds nice, shame I can’t ride a horse.” Oscar tried not to look bitter about it. He seemed more surprised that Mike would forget that, in all honesty.

“Wait here.”

Mike didn’t give his boyfriend a chance to reply as he took off at a jog and slipped into the nearby stables. Down the end was his horse- Alli- and he saddled and bridled her as fast as he could without upsetting the poor mare. Alli was the most mild-tempered and patient of his horses, and probably the best for what he had in mind. He slipped her a few mints as he lead her into the sunlight to a waiting Oscar.

“Don’t worry bout a thing,” he explained, “I’ll be up here with you, and I won’t let you fall.”

“Well aren’t you sweet,” Oscar gave a huff before wheeling over, “I suppose that could work, dear.”

“Damn right it will.” With some difficulty- due to Oscar’s awkward, long limbs- Mike somehow lifted him up and onto the horse, struggling to get both his boots into the stirrups and the moment he turned away, Oscar gave a yelp as he started slipping to the far side of Alli’s massive back before Mike grabbed his arm. His mouth was wide open, panting through an adrenaline rush and looking like a small woodland creature caught in a trap.

“Whoopsie-daisy babe,” exclaimed Mike, “keep a hold of the reins, will ya?”

“No balance,” Oscar explained, “like, none at all; this might be tricky.”

“Hey I got you,” Mike guided Oscar so he was lying flat against Alli’s neck, arms gently wrapped around her throat, the horse keeping still for them, “see? You’ll be fine.” And with that, he climbed up behind him, wrapping his arms around Oscar’s middle to pull him back up and tapping Alli with his heel. “If I give you directions, reckon you could translate them for Alli? You’re good with horses and I like that about ya. I respect anyone that respects animals, but you know that already.”

“You flatter me, you really do,” Oscar gently guided the reins as Alli walked them both towards the sunset, resting against Mike’s chest. “Aren’t you forgetting my chair?”

“Nah,” Mike waved a hand, “we can both lie on the bank instead, just relaxing and stuff, alright with you?”

Oscar nodded, falling silent as old buildings melted away into wide open fields, golden in the late afternoon light and dotted with wildflowers. In the distant hills, the pair swore they saw a herd of wild mustang. He wondered just how many little sketches and watercolours Charlie would be able to fit in whilst they were staying, and made a note to remind her to get as many photographs as she could too. He might even ask her for a painting, the place was so beautiful, and for some reason smelt exactly like Michael. 

“So what’s that?” Mike broke the silence that had settled between them at the sight of something dark peeking out from under his sleeve. “Got inked?”

“Kirituhi,” Oscar mumbled as he rolled up his shirt sleeve to display the intricate black patterns, “for being a brave boy.”

“The bravest,” Mike laughed, “it suits you.”

“Thanks,” Oscar twisted his torso to plant a peck on Mike’s cheek, “love ya, cowboy.”

“Love you too, you damn Cooper.”


End file.
